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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507983">Bertie Solves a Mystery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion'>VTsuion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Jeeves &amp; Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, Poirot - Agatha Christie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Backstory, Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Character Death, Character Development, Drama &amp; Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Investigations, M/M, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Murder Mystery, Protectiveness, Recovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:48:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit to Brinkley Court doesn't go quite to plan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Hastings &amp; Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Arthur Hastings &amp; Hercule Poirot, Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>We were making good time, or as good time as can be made winding down narrow but familiar roads between rolling pastures, rather more brown than green in the season, but pleasant enough going nonetheless. The company was only Jeeves and I - I can think of no better company for such a jaunt - and the destination was Brinkley Court; the abode of one most deserving aunt, my dear Aunt Dahlia, loud and quite fearless, who in her increasingly distant youth hunted with the Pytchley and the Quorn, and has never stopped speaking as though shouting over fields and through woods. She is a decidedly good egg, to contrast with that formidable Aunt Agatha, who howls at the full moon and sacrifices nephews caught about after midnight. And there is nothing so pleasant as a jaunt out to Brinkley Court, especially when tea is long past and dinner looms upon the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing so pleasant as a jaunt out to Brinkley Court, what?” I said. “I wonder what Anatole has on the menu for tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves said pleasantly, drawing his eyes away from the rushing scenery to regard the no longer quite so young master - but still in an early, spry middle age. “I believe you will find it a most suitable ‘spread’, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve heard from Seppings?” I accused jealously, my mouth already beginning to water at the mere suggestion of such a spread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeeves’s implication - if that’s the word I mean - of a smile took a dashed smirk-like turn. “Yes, sir. I had the pleasure of speaking to him when I telephoned earlier today to portend your arrival and happened to inquire as to the menu for tonight’s dinner, which Mr. Seppings was happy to provide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeeves,” I protested, “what’s become of the feudal spirit? You knew all along and yet waited until now to even give the slightest inkling. Spill it, Jeeves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope that you will forgive me, sir, I am afraid I have forgotten it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t believe the chap for an instant - the very thought that the man’s memory would fail upon a matter of such import was preposterous. “Pish, Jeeves! Pish, I say!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it is any consolation, sir, it is often that the unexpected pleasure is more pleasing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pish, Jeeves!” I persisted, but to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hazarded a glance at the chap out of the corner of my eye - the rest of my gaze trained on the winding road - and found him looking rather pleased with himself. His e. met mine, glittering in that brainy way of his, and the treacherous Wooster heart leaped a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say, did you at least put in a word on my behalf?” I asked, trying to keep up something of the masterful, aristocratic air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, I unshipped a beam at the fellow. “In that case, I suppose I can find my way to  forgiving you forgetting the menu and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is most kind, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our eyes met again for a flash and there was something dashed infectious about the chap’s gleam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right ho, Jeeves!” I declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if our shoulders bumped together as the car jostled along down the road, I say, what of it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t very long after that before we arrived at Brinkley Court at last. Jeeves handled the luggage and I greeted Seppings, Aunt Dahlia’s butler of very many years, with a cheery “What ho!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Mr. Wooster,” Seppings said with something of a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once I had shed my coat and hat, I ambled into the parlor where at least one contingent of the company had gathered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ho!” I exclaimed to the assembled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertie, there you are!” My dearest cousin Angela - looking more like her mother every day, though I fear for the chap who tells her as much - rushed to the door for a cousinly embrace. “I was worried you wouldn’t show up until tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Bertie!” her friend Madeline - or rather Lady Sidcup - gasped, a little ways behind. “You shouldn’t have come!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was rather less pleased to see the latter than the former. From just a glance, a chap may wonder what cause I have to complain about the company of a, by all accounts, still attractive dame, but, my friend, I would say that looks can be deceiving. Beneath her, to some, enticing visage, is a girl of the sappiest sort with whom I have ever had the displeasure of conversing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, right,” I said, scrambling a bit as the inevitable silence that arises whenever we come tête-a-tête began to sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cast about and at last I spotted a sight for sore eyes; the final female in attendance, who had remained seated on the couch rather than enter the fray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ho, Em!” I exclaimed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Bertie,” Emerald Fink-Nottle said, a little lacking in her usual pep, but pleased to see me nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The astute reader may remember Em, now the wife of my old school chum Gussie Fink-Nottle, as the younger daughter of American magnate J. Washburn Stoker, and sister of my one-time fiancée, Pauline Chuffnell (née Stoker), and a particular pal of mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, Em and I had no time to chew the fat, as Angela insisted, “It’s good you could make it; Hildebrand will have no choice but to finally see sense. You haven’t seen him have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tuppy?” I asked just to be sure, glancing around for the chap as though I expected him to pop out of the woodwork. “No, I haven’t seen him. I’ve just hopped out of the car, in fact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To tell the truth, I wasn’t all that keen on seeing Hildebrand “Tuppy” Glossop. We’ve have had our differences over the years - a particular instance of being dared to swing over a swimming pool in the fish and soup, only to find that one Glossop had looped back the rings, forcing me to drop into the soup as it were, ruining my evening best, comes to mind. However, that’s all in the past and ever since he married my dearest cousin Angela nearly a decade ago, we’ve been the closest of chums - not quite Damon and Pythias, but reliably amiable company at the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, ever since I had returned from New York and he from the front, the chap only greeted me with a sneer and I very well knew I deserved it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela, however, was of a different mind. “I know he’s a stubborn blighter, but he’ll come around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but is it truly worth the pain of seeing that which you know you cannot have?” Madeline asked mournfully, off in a world of her own as is her typical state. “I know how hard it is for you to stay away, but I’m married, Bertie, whatever once could have been between us can be no longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er…” I replied, dashed awkward and all that - you can’t very well tell a girl who’s thought you’ve been in love with her for years that it was all just a little misunderstanding, and I wasn’t too keen on confronting Tuppy either. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertie,” Madeline said, “you’ve always been such a noble gentleman, trying to conceal your feelings, but I know why you haven’t married after all these years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My face flushed a little. My reasons for remaining a bachelor are hardly a topic for discussion. I was grateful that I didn’t have time to mumble some excuse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Madeline bit her lip and backed away from me. “Oh, I shouldn’t have spoken with you at all. Be careful Bertie, Roderick wouldn’t be pleased to see us like this, you know.” From the way she said it, it sounded like we were locked in a tight embrace rather than halfway across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right-o,” I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turned to Angela, but she hardly looked like she was ready to flock round, as it were. Instead, she seemed rather dismayed by my dismissal, and gave me a bit of a glare. Em only shrugged, at as much of a loss of what to make of it all as I was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on, Bertie,”  Angela said with a little more enthusiasm than was rightly encouraging, “Hildebrand should be around wherever Lord Sidcup isn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Gussie here too?” I asked hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is,” Em said, though she didn’t sound entirely certain about the fact, “couldn’t say where though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he’s with Hildebrand,” Angela suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, very well,” I said - a chap knows when he’s not wanted. I bid the ladies “Toodle-pip” and went on my way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I certainly had no intention of seeking out Tuppy, or letting him find me if he’d put his mind to it, for that matter. Instead I went in search of my fair hostess, the deserving aunt herself. However, fate, like Angela Glossop, had other plans, and on my way, I just about crashed into Tuppy through no intent of my own - or his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon me,” I began awkwardly, and he looked like he was about to attempt the same, when he realized who exactly it was he had bumped into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What are you doing here?” he demanded as though he had caught me breaking in in the dead of night and making off with a sack of Uncle Tom’s silver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ho, don’t mind me,” I said and tried to move past the chap, toward the study door waiting just at the end of the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuppy glared at me, looking rather like he had some mind to make it hurt me as much as the sight of me was clearly paining him, but at last he let me pass with something that sounded distinctly like a curse under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I legged it down the hall and slipped into my Aunt Dahlia’s study.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bertie, there you are!” the deserving aunt exclaimed as though she were shouting to me across the fields. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it in time for dinner!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I greeted her as soon as my ears had ceased to ring. “What ho!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good thing you’re here,” she said, wasting no time in getting down to business as it was. “I was thinking of inviting you round myself when Angela suggested it. I need a word with Jeeves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have mellowed some over the years. I know it is Jeeves who has the brains and that I, though capable of showing some signs of intelligence on occasion, am not anything resembling a match for the chap. However, I confess it still stings to discover that my presence is not desired for its own merits, but only for the chance to consult with my man Jeeves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, I replied with some rancor, “With Jeeves? What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need his help, of course. I’m as deep in the soup as you’ve ever been, that’s for sure. If he can’t get me the dirt I don’t know who can-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I waved the aunt to silence - we Wooster’s have our pride. “Jeeves isn’t the only chap with brains you know. If you want to consult with him then fine, but in that case I don’t want to hear a word of it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now, Bertie,” she said as though I were being absurd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know when my services aren’t wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, I can’t afford having you mess this up. What your Uncle Tom would say if he knew - but it won’t come to that. Now, you’d better hurry along and get dressed for dinner; you haven’t fooled me, I know the only reason you’d come all the way out here is for Anatole’s cooking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still stung, I retorted, “I would gladly come to rally round my dearest aunt, but as you have no need for my help, it seems to enjoy Anatole’s cooking is all that I’m here for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re in for a treat tonight; Anatole is on the top of his form, even better than at Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My pride may have been injured, but I couldn’t help perking up at that. My mouth may have begun to water. “I say!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tom would be devastated if he knew what he was missing. As it is, he’s barely holding on thanks to the promise of what Anatole will whip up when he gets back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My Uncle Tom, you see, was away on his usual post-holiday cure. His digestion has always troubled him. The only cook that has ever managed to suit his palate and his stomach is God’s gift to the gastric juices, Anatole, who is without a doubt the tops as far as cooks are concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t forget to tell Jeeves I want a word with him after dinner,” Aunt Dahlia insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good,” I said and made tracks back to the room I had been assigned to for my stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, I bumped into no one on the way, least of all Tuppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeeves was already present, ready to assist me with the fish and soup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ho, Jeeves,” I said as he helped me out of my suit jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems we’ve been lured here on false pretenses,” I remarked as I handed the chap my jacket. “Aunt Dahlia wants to consult - she said it needed the Jeeves touch, that Wooster wasn’t good enough for her; too important - and Angela is trying to set me up with Tuppy again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I may be so bold, sir,” Jeeves said, “I would advise you not to pay Mr. Glossop any heed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I caught the chap’s hand - which was already in the middle of helping me out of my shirt - in my own and shook my head. We’d been this way before and had only found ourselves going in circles, which I had no desire to retread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t trouble yourself, Jeeves,” I said. The chap looked just about ready to argue, but I forced a bit of cheer without too much difficulty and asked before he had the chance, “Any word from the kitchens? How’s old Seppings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” Jeeves replied pointedly, before accepting the change in topic with a little belated grace. “Mr. Seppings is well. I was unfortunately unable to glean much from the kitchens, as they are rather preoccupied at present with all of the guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right-o,” I said, shimmying out of my shirt. “And you’re doing all you can to help out, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I endeavor to provide assistance whenever I have the opportunity to do so, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, don’t forget to take it easy some too, Jeeves. A walk around the gardens would be just the thing tomorrow - what do you say? Not that I mean to keep you from the Spinoza.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expect that would be a most pleasant diversion, sir,” Jeeves said with that rummy soft smile of his, which gave me an awfully pleasant sort of warm feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had just tightened my bowtie as the gong sounded to announce that greatly anticipated feast; dinner. My stomach can be a bit touch and go at times, but it took that as a signal to rev into gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bon appetit, Jeeves,” I declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before I could race from the room like a starving cheetah, Jeeves cautioned, “Your tie, if I may, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good, Jeeves,” I said with a bit of a wave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like a trial of my very soul to stand there, like a horse stamping at the gate after the gun had already sounded, but at last, Jeeves’s deft fingers worked their magic and I was free to sally forth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it was, I arrived just as everyone was taking their places round the table. To my dismay, I wound up sandwiched between Tuppy Glossop and Roderick Spode - or rather Lord Sidcup as he’s been for the past ten years or so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was far from an ideal posish. Tuppy and I exchanged a terse look and I hastily turned to my other side, where I was faced with Spode, who has never been a great friend of mine; an imposing dictator-type who would as soon break a chap in two as look at him - as I believe the expression goes. I hear he gives dreadfully rousing speeches in the House of Lords these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But we Woosters are nothing if not gentlemen, so I tried to put all the bad blood behind me and attempted something of a cheery, “What ho!” though I fear it fell rather short of the mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could have sworn the chap growled at me in response, or at the very least groaned. There was certainly a threatening glint in his beady eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The opposite side of the table offered little respite. Directly across from me was Madeline, staring at me with those wide, doey eyes. I am hardly what you would call a stolid chap, but my usual fount of quips and other sundry wit all but dry up in her soupy presence. For her part, she’s hardly inclined to keep a conversation going, adrift in a world of her own, no doubt thinking of how stars are like “God’s daisy chains” and angels’ sneezes giving rise to infants, and that sort of rot. I almost offered her a drink just for something to say, but Seppings was already hovering about around the table, relieving me of my only route of escape from the weighty silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glanced about again, only to find Spode, the least companionable of my dinner companions, glaring at me like a rhinoceros that had charged once already and only just missed its mark, and had no intention of doing so again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooster,” he said as though there was nothing worse he could think to call a chap, his voice low and threatening besides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raised my head with aristocratic pride. “Spode,” I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I did not like my chances if I ever happened across the chap in a dark alleyway, but at the table surrounded by, if not friends, at least acquaintances, I was quite safe. If I had Michelin lace cuffs I would have brushed off any invisible specks of dust that dared soil them - though, upon second thought, it seemed not quite a thing to be done at the table, so perhaps it was for the best that I was lacking in lace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or, should I say, Lord Sidcup?” I amended in the same proud tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better watch your step, Wooster!” Spode growled, but he kept his voice low, and I saw him sneak a few furtive glances across the table at his beloved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I held my head high and scoffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the instant I felt I had made my point clear, I turned away and shot a pleading look at my dear cousin Angela on the other side of the table - seated on Madeline’s right. But the usually delightful blot offered me no consolation and instead merely shrugged, before diving into conversation with Madeline, of all people. I have never been able to fathom how two so different girls can be such great friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My deserving Aunt Dahlia was at the head of the table between Angela and Tuppy, putting her unfortunately rather out of my ken for the duration of dinner. Instead, I braved Spode and turned to the other side of the table in hopes of some sympathy. Thankfully Spode is a fickle beast and his attentions had gone from me, to the unfortunate drip directly opposite him; Gussie Fink-Nottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gussie is, as I have said, an unfortunate chap and a bit of a drip, a famous newt fancier, but he’s also a fellow Drone and a friend of mine from our private school days. I would wish the glare of Spode on no man, but my heart went out to Gussie especially, no longer quite the sensitive plant he once was, but still not a man of steel or what not. He certainly didn’t deserve the evil eye for daring to have once or twice been engaged to Madeline in her pre-Sidcup days and to have now wound up seated adjacent to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I greeted him with a “What ho!” but he was distracted, as any chap would be, confronted with Spode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I half expected Em - seated on Gussie’s other side - to take Spode to task for the look he was giving her husband. She looked none too pleased in such a posish. herself. Alas, we were consigned to near opposite ends of the table, too far for idle chit-chat - she would have certainly made better company than my current lot. I gave her a bit of a wave and grin, but like Gussie she was otherwise occupied and I could see her heart wasn’t in it. If only I had been near enough to lend a friendly ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To round out the company, at the far end of the table, seemingly engaged in something of a staring contest with my Aunt Dahlia, was the indomitable Stiffy Pinker (née Bing). Like Madeline and Spode, she’s more typically one of the Totleigh Towers lot than Brinkley Court, being the ward of Madeline’s father, Sir Watkyn Bassett. Indomitable may not be a strong enough word to describe her. When Stiffy wants something done she gets it done whatever the cost. The cost more often than not taking the form of sending her poor Harold “Stinker” Pinker - coincidentally a pal of mine from Oxford - or on a few noteworthy occasions myself, out in a ski mask in the middle of the night to stage a robbery or some such, or live to regret it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, I had to admit that Aunt Dahlia had rather outdone herself in the way of company. It wasn’t quite the crowd I would have called for - rather more of the likes of Spode and Madeline and less of the Drones than to my taste - but it certainly rounded out the table. Given my posish., you may understand why Anatole’s cooking, marvelous as it always was and with a few choice favorites in the mix that I recognized as Jeeves’s hand at work, did not quite manage to hold me spellbound, and my appetite, touchy as it is, quickly waned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I made some further attempt at drawing Gussie into conversation for both our sakes, but it only succeeded at dividing Spode’s ire between us, and I gave it up as a bad job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was picking my way through </span>
  <em>
    <span>sylphides a la crème d'écrevisses</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wishing I was back at the table in my own flat, with just myself and maybe Jeeves if he consented to join me, when there was a sudden uproar to my right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spode leaped to his feet, nearly upsetting the table - I held on to my plate for dear life. There was wine everywhere west of Stinker, who was frantically apologizing to the chap, attempting to no avail to dab the lake of wine away with his napkin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spode, his face looking like a particularly lumpy beet, let out a thunderous roar, “PINKER!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I backed away into Tuppy, who hastily stepped well out of my reach, as though I had the Spanish flu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling,”  Madeline attempted, but to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Stiffy turned on Spode in Stinker’s defense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For an instant all was shouting - I thought I may have even heard Stiffy’s aged hound, Bartholomew, putting in a bark or two from out in the stables.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Aunt Dahlia was louder; “ENOUGH!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had a quite remarkable effect. You could have heard an elderly sheep coughing from upon a distant mountaintop, but none dared make even the slightest sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she said, her voice only a notch quieter. “Seppings,” she began, but the butler was already on hand with the necessaries, so instead she turned on Spode with a quite deadly smile. “Lord Spodecup, why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beet had not gone from his face, accentuated by the wine on his suit. He looked rather like a volcano bulging up, ready to blow. I took another step out of the way of his hammer-like fists just to be safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead of a great explosion, it ended with a bit of an underwhelming phut, and he stamped from the room with only a hearty grumble. Stinker looked ready to chase after him with another word of apology, but Stiffy, for all her faults, had wisdom enough to hold him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only when Spode was gone did the maids dare approach, and in just a few shakes, all evidence that there had been any mishap at all, had just about vanished, and we all sat down to dinner once more, a little lighter for the chap’s absence. It didn’t last long, but there was a pleasant interval of laughter all around the table and I managed to enjoy a few bites, before Spode returned with a glare at Stinker - and a few extra for Gussie and myself for good measure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, there wasn’t much more of dinner left after that. We all finished eating and then the party made something of an exodus to the parlour for drinks and what not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela took my arm as we filtered out of the dining room, holding me back so we were a little behind the pack. “That brute,” she declared in a low voice. “I wish you’d married Madeline, she’s not so bad you know, once you get to know her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I daresay she’s worse,” I replied - this was hardly the first time Angela had made such a suggestion and the very thought sent a shiver down my spine every time even though Madeline was safely married off to Spode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela batted my arm. “She’s got enough trouble as it is with Lord Sidcup, you ought to be nicer to her - it’s the least you can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raised my head in aristocratic pride. “It’s always my aim to be a gentleman. Otherwise,  I would’ve simply said I didn’t want to marry her years ago, but it’s hardly </span>
  <em>
    <span>preux</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and your </span>
  <em>
    <span>preux</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Anglea retorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was just preparing to unleash a scathing reply, but I never had the chance, as at that moment we came into the parlour and Angela skipped off to join Madeline and Em.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I greeted the rest of the chaps with a cheery “What ho!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ho,” Stinker replied, but he was the only one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as I had come into the room, Tuppy made for the other side as though he’d been stung by a bee - or however the expression goes. Spode was occupied with trying to glare at everyone at once, as though we were all responsible for the dark stain that he may never expunge from his evening best. It reminded me of the time Tuppy had played a practical joke on yours truly that wound up with me falling into the pool in my fish and soup, but it seemed hardly the crowd to appreciate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead I milled about a bit. I exchanged a word or two with the aged relative, but I was still feeling not entirely kindly toward the aforementioned after she had slighted me just hours previous. Eventually, I elected to call it a bit of an early e. with some thought of finishing the novel I had brought along. I exited the parlour and mounted the stairs with a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, I was not destined for peace just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooster!” Spode charged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stumbled back into the railing. My feet slipped along the way and I dropped down a couple steps, thankfully managing to remain upright, even as a sharp jolt shuddered up from my heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it you want?” I managed to retort after a fashion, though it lacked some of the desired sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spode had stomped - I presume - up the stairs while I had been indisposed and now was just a step away. “You may have everyone else fooled, but I’ve been watching you, Wooster,” he said, his voice low, as not to alert the remainder of the party in the parlour, but in a menacing sort of way - and I’m afraid between the deadly stare and bulging muscles, he managed the desired effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have?” I asked, not quite casually. I tried to stand firm, but my boots quaked of their own accord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have and I know your lawless ways!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now just a moment, there’s nothing-” I attempted frantically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity to steal Madeline from under my nose. But if you so much as look at her, Wooster, I’ll snap your spine in half and rip off your head!” As he spoke, Spode loomed ever closer, looking like he was inclined to skip the formalities and go straight to the snapping and ripping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, see here, it wasn’t very well my idea-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been warned, Wooster!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spode raised his hand toward my neck and I flinched back, tipping precariously against the banister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For an instant I considered my chances if I flung myself over and tried to land on my feet or however it would hurt the least - and then we both looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as happy to see the chap as I was to see Tuppy on that particular occasion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spode hastily stepped away and growled down at him, “Nothing to see here, Mr. Glossop, just having a little chat, weren’t we Wooster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t think twice; I bolted straight up the stairs and didn’t look back. I don’t even recall if I thought to throw a hasty excuse behind me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wooster!” Spode shouted after me, but I was already around the corner, and it seems Spode is a fickle beast, for lacking Bertram, he quickly turned on Tuppy, and the last thing I heard was him roaring, “Just a minute, Glossop! I’ve been meaning to have a word with you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt bad for the fellow of course. My friendship with Tuppy had seen better days, but my heart still went out to the chap, however, Bertram W. may be many things, but I’m not nearly fool enough to take my chances against a rampaging Spode. Instead, I ducked into my room and soundly locked the door behind me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was still badly enough rattled that when I heard someone rattling at the door, instead of jumping up to unlock it I called out, “Who is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir?” I heard on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hastily admitted Jeeves and locked the door again behind him. I could feel the chap watching me, an eyebrow raised just a fraction of an inch in restrained bewilderment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Spode, Jeeves, I don’t know if I’ll be able to last a day in the same house as the bally fellow. He’s already sworn he’ll snap my spine </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> rip off my head if I so much as look at Madeline, and how can I very well help it being confined to close quarters with the female - by no will of my own, mind you. Next I’ll be sleeping in the shed, if I can catch any dreamless at all, listening for Spode lurking in the gardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir,” was all Jeeves said in that dashed indifferent way of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is no trifling matter, Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “I fear Spode’ll be the end of me. I half expect he’ll come after me in the night if he finds out that Madeline so much as talked to me when we arrived!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is most troubling, sir,” Jeeves said, though if he was troubled I don’t think I’d ever seen a calm day in my life. “However, I expect Lord Sidcup, for all of his threatening overtures, is rather more bark than bite, if I may use the expression, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t been at the receiving end of his bark, Jeeves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, hardly to the same extent, sir. However-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No ‘however’, Jeeves! If there was a time that called for flocking round it would be now, unless you intend to leave me to the mercy of the Sidcup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good, sir. If I am not mistaken, a locked door will be enough to impede Lord Sidcup tonight, and tomorrow, our promenade in the gardens will put some distance between ourselves and Lord and Lady Sidcup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could still detect more than a note of indifference in the man’s tone. He was hardly all aflutter, but there was reason in what he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is reason in what you say, Jeeves,” I admitted at last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are too kind, sir,” Jeeves said with a little bow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mock me, Jeeves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He righted himself immediately, straightening his posture - though it hardly ever truly needed straightening - and squaring his shoulders. “Not at all, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gave the chap a look, but he was irreproachable, stuffed frog mask and all. There was no getting through to him when he was like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, I waved it all aside. “Very good, Jeeves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stuffed frog relaxed, if only a smidge. “Shall I prepare your bath, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I caught the man’s dark eyes with my baby blues, really held his gaze, you know. There’s something downright unfathomable about those inky blacks of his. They may say the eyes are the windows to a chap’s soul, but if that’s the case, then Jeeves’s soul will always be a mystery to me. For all the years I’ve known him, there are still things about the chap I may never truly understand. He plays along well enough, but it’s not so easy to forget that he’s accustomed to sterner stuff that makes my little troubles seem unsubstantial and inconsequential in comparison. But we’d been all over that life and death rot and back again with nothing to show for it. At the very least, there certainly wasn’t anything I could do for it, not for lack of trying, mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, I gave the chap a bit of a pat on the arm. “Thank you, Jeeves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good, sir,” he said and shimmered from the room.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"That life and death rot" is from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307516">Jeeves Meets the Phantom of the Opera</a>, which introduces a lot of the things going on with Jeeves here. I recommend it as prior reading, though it shouldn't be strictly necessary.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bertram Wooster may be many things, but I could never be called an early riser. This is not, however, what I would consider to be entirely a fault. Take that morning, for example, whereupon I rose well after the rest of the house, as is my custom. My e. fluttered open to the sight of Jeeves, pressed and prim as ever, ready with a cup of tea in hand, which I gratefully accepted. We kidded back and forth for a bit as I gulped down the oolong and he readied the raiment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time I made it down to breakfast, the rest of the house had already long since vacated. I breathed in the fresh morning - or rather, early afternoon - air without a glimpse of Spode or Tuppy or Stiffy. As for the rest of the company, they could wait until after I’d picked my way through some kippers and toast. Jeeves hovered about the table, ostensibly helping, though I could very well fill my own plate from the sideboard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A kipper, Jeeves?” I offered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very kind, sir, but I have already breakfasted,” he said - and as it happens, for all his brains, the chap prefers ham.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lunch then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have already lunched, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, then have it your way, Jeeves,” I said. The chap is an incorrigible early riser even when not strictly on duty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After breakfast, we donned our coats and hats, and stepped out onto the rolling lawn. It was a brisk, chilly day, but far from unpleasant for a ramble about the gardens. You see, I am something of a connoisseur of old country houses and their manicured gardens, and I have brought Jeeves around to their merits - not that the chap took much convincing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arm in arm, we wandered along the quiet paths. No flowers were in bloom, but there was a remarkable tranquility about the place and the bare tree trunks outlined against the slate gray sky made for a dramatic setting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden places, which had been mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now expose themselves and their secrets,” Jeeves remarked as we meandered along - I have found that nature brings out the poet in the chap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not Shakespeare?” I asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sir. He was not terribly fond of winter. That was Grahame, but perhaps you would find Thoreau to be more fitting; Many of the phenomena of Winter are suggestive of an inexpressible tenderness and fragile delicacy. We are accustomed to hear this king described as a rude and boisterous tyrant; but with the gentleness of a lover he adorns the tresses of Summer.” The chap was positively glittering with intelligence, his eyes particularly shone with a glimmery sort of light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, Jeeves! I confess I didn’t think Thoreau was terribly hot stuff, but perhaps I should look again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I may take the liberty of saying, sir-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always, Jeeves.” I gave his arm a pat for good measure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I expect that you would not find </span>
  <em>
    <span>Walden</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be to your taste, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a thriller?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good, Jeeves, you know best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, sir.” He looked rather pleased with himself, and I let him have his victory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was feeling rather bucked up myself. The winter air certainly does wonders for a chap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This winter air certainly does wonders for a chap, what?” I said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” he said looking at me with that rummy soft smile he gets sometimes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We prowled along for a bit longer in silence. I wrapped both my arms around his, like one of those dames you see hanging off her fellow in the park, all cozied up, as it were, as we wound through the bare copses and dells. A flurry of snow drifted through the air and lazily wafted to the ground. Jeeves raised a gloved hand to gently brush away some snowflakes that had settled in my hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We ambled on a little longer before I thought to try my luck; “Say, Jeeves, those natty new shirts…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeeves did not hesitate to reply, “Pardon my saying so, sir, but they would not suit you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But wouldn’t they be just the thing, Jeeves?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid not, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re not careful, Jeeves, I might get that alpine hat I’ve been eyeing too - I do miss the old thing dreadfully.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A stiff upper lip, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you think it lends me an air of diablerie? And a chap like me could use all the diablerie he can get.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sir. If I may take the liberty of saying so, I find your appearance more than satisfactory as you are - </span>
  <em>
    <span>sans diablerie</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I flushed a little at the flattery, though I very well knew what it was. Jeeves is truly a most remarkable chap and has only grown more remarkable with time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good, Jeeves, have it your way, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sans diablerie</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And the shirts, sir?” he dared ask. “I believe your current wardrobe is most-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I cut him off with a wave before he tried more of his flattery rot. “The shirts too, if you like, Jeeves, but one day” - I shook my finger at him for emphasis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Jeeves, the stolid chap that he is, only raised the eyebrow a fraction and twitched the lip in fond amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We were coming up on the summer house when Jeeves abruptly pulled away - being a rather more astute fellow than myself. I had just gotten over the shock of finding myself Jeeves-less and adrift, and was about to ask Jeeves the meaning of it when said meaning made itself manifest in the form of Gussie Fink-Nottle clomping through the gardens, darting between trees as though to hide behind the trunks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What ho, Gussie!” I proclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hastily hushed me. “You’ll give me away,” the chap hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, what’s the meaning of all this? Surely not a game of hide and seek - the kiddies are all away at boarding school, aren’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Spode or Sidcup or whatever his name is! He’s got it into his thick head that I’m after Madeline!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I felt a great sympathy for the chap. “Spode sure gets around, what? He came after me just after dinner yesterday accusing me of the same, and I only got away because he was distracted by Tuppy, who fortunately happened along just at the critical juncture-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gussive gave an emphatic “Shush! I think that’s him now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ducked behind Jeeves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could hear heavy footsteps approaching through the gardens, crunching through the litter of fallen leaves. At last, Gussie seemed to be able to stand it no longer, and with a yelp, he ran off over the flowerbeds. I couldn’t very well fathom it; I may not be much, but I would swear on my life that there’s nowhere safer to be than in Jeeves’s company.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, Spode emerged from the shrubbery. “Wooster,” he said, his voice most unpleasant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spode,” I replied, not taking a step backward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M’lord,” Jeeves added to the fray, just a step behind me and, as a quick glance over my shoulder discovered, looking at the chap none too kindly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you seen that wretched Fink-Nottle? I want to have a word with him” - it seemed “to have a word with” a chap was the byword these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t seen head or tail of him,” I said suavely. “Jeeves and I have just been enjoying something of a constitutional on this pleasant winter afternoon, haven’t we, Jeeves?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spode glared at me as though he could scare out the truth, but I held firm. At last, he stepped back, far from content, but having accepted his fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d better watch your step, Wooster,” he said before he too stomped off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you watch your step, Lord Spode-cup!” I called after him - I realized I’d used the wrong name a moment too late to rightly correct it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The remainder of Jeeves and my walk passed peacefully without further interruption, and eventually we returned to the house, unhooking our arms as we stepped out onto the lawn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That evening, I went down to dinner prepared for the worst. No one seemed terribly pleased, to tell the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One more had been added to the company in the interim; a slight sort of elfin chap, maybe a handful of years older than myself who was introduced as a Mr. Satterthwaite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Wooster,” he said as we did the usual sort of introductory handshake. “I’m a neighbor of Mrs. Travers. Being something of an epicure, I have, of course, heard of the remarkable Anatole, and could not resist an invitation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rather!” I agreed - the supremacy of Anatole is one thing upon which all gathered, for all our disagreements, could agree on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, we all took our seats so that the browsing and sluicing could commence, and though there had been nothing odd in our brief exchange, I was left with a sort of rummy impression of the chap. He sat down quietly at the corner of the table, his sharp eyes darting all around, apparently keenly interested in something, but I hadn’t an inkling as to what about the lot of us could warrant it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dinner was a rather dour affair on the whole; Spode glared at Gussie and myself, Tuppy glared at me, Aunt Dahlia and Stiffy glared at each other from their places on the opposite ends of the table, and just about everyone glared at Spode. Em attempted a bit of polite conversation with Mr. Satterthwaite, who had been put next to her, but the atmosphere was on the suffocating side, and so it all fell to naught. I ate my fill, but at times like this, even the best food turns to ashes in one’s mouth - though it seemed not all were in agreement upon the matter; Tuppy beside me ate with gusto.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was hardly the only one who was relieved when dinner at last came to an end. Madeline excused herself and went up to her room with a headache as the rest of us quietly filtered into the parlour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing in the parlour, silver tray in hand, was a true sight for sore eyes. I just about bounded over to the chap with a beam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A drink, sir?” Jeeves offered, all prim and polished as ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Jeeves, and make it light on the s.,” I said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No sooner had I asked did a glass appear in hand - I have gotten so accustomed to Jeeves, that I can hardly fathom what it’s like to have a lesser valet who does not anticipate one’s every want and need.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheers, Jeeves,” I said before taking a good gulp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves replied, perhaps a little more distant than I would have liked, but the man’s presence was enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Were we at home, I would have offered the chap a glass of his own and we’d spend the evening on the sofa chewing the fat or reading - him with some improving book and I with a page turner. But alas, duty calls, and so he shimmered on to attend to the rest of the guests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The party had broken off into several smaller contingents, as parties are wont to do; people scattered here and there, talking among themselves in low voices. My attention was drawn by Mr. Satterthwaite, sitting on his lonesome in the corner, his rummy gaze apparently directed toward me of all people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our eyes met, however, it lasted not a moment before he turned away as Jeeves flitted over to offer him a drink. To my surprise, when Jeeves’s duty was done, rather than flitting on, he then stooped, so he was closer to M. Satterthwaite’s level, and they exchanged a few hushed words - not that I could have heard them at any volume from where I was standing on the other side of the room. I had half a mind to take a step closer, but Jeeves shimmered away before I had the chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Satterthwaite’s gaze lingered a bit, watching Jeeves as he went, before he turned his attention back to the rest of us, sweeping around the room. I had the vague, rummy impression that we were all putting on some kind of show, and he was the audience, not that I could fathom what could be worth watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know it’s hardly gentlemanly to stare, but it was with a little reluctance that I moved on as well. However it was for the best, as only then did I notice Em standing all on her lonesome and looking none too happy about it. Truly the fault was mine as a pal of hers for not rectifying the situation sooner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What ho,” I said, sidling up to her in a friendly sort of way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Em looked up and smiled at the sight of me, but it didn’t last. “Oh, hullo Bertie.” She seemed on the verge of saying more, but stopped short.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right-o,” I said - one must always keep the conversation going. When she said nothing more, I tried the direct approach; “Something troubling you, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hmmed a little, seeming rather like that cat in the adage letting I dare not wait upon I would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, it’s nothing really,” she said at last, though she didn’t sound like she quite believed it. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, to tell you the truth, it’s a horrible thing to think.” She shook her head. For a moment I thought she had forgotten I was there, but then she abruptly looked up and l. me in the eye, “You’re a real gentleman, Bertie. Not many men are these days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, I mean is that so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know, Bertie. Everything’s so complicated. Sometimes I wish… I don’t even know.” She glanced around like a spy in one of the pictures and then leaned in toward me. “You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you, Bertie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was ready to swear it on my honor as a gentleman that I would keep a lady’s secret to the grave, when a shout on the other end of the room made all of our heads turn - mine included.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’ll just have to wait!” Tuppy had exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no question who he was speaking to; Tuppy and Spode were standing in the middle of the parlour, both gearing up for a fight if I wasn’t mistaken, and I don’t know if a chap could have been, between the reddened faces and clenched fists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spode, not one to be outdone, roared back, “Glossop, you damn thief, I’ve waited long enough!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tuppy looked more than ready to have at him, but it seemed even a pair of rampaging bulls would have been no match for my fearless Aunt Dahlia, who at that moment stepped into the middle, not quite calmly as you please, but a placid lake compared to the chaps on either side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her withering glare, she saved for Spode. “I’ve put up with a lot from you, maybe too much, but I won’t let you come into my home and call my son a thief!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For an instant Spode looked all too happy to turn his ire on her, but with what seemed like an awful lot of effort, he contented himself with an answering glare and grumble, and returned to his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We all stood, frozen in silence for a moment or two, no one quite sure what to say. I felt a distinct urge to put in a word, just to say something, but, lacking Aunt Dahlia’s iron will, I had no desire to turn the rage of Spode onto myself and managed to stay my tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, Aunt Dahlia stepped down, as it were. That seemed to be the thing to break the spell. Tuppy immediately stomped from the room. A few of the assembled made some attempt at resuming their conversations that had been so suddenly interrupted, but it seemed the moment had passed and by a sort of silent agreement, the party began to filter up to bed. By the time I remembered that Em seemed to have something dashed important to say, she had already gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I milled about in the sitting room a bit longer, nursing my s. and b. in the quiet company that remained. Neither Gussie nor Mr. Satterthwaite seemed to have much to say, and I, for once, was at a bit of a loss of words myself, content to linger moodily in the corner like one of those chaps in the pictures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was on the end of my after dinner gasper, contemplating heading up as well when suddenly, I heard a loud crash coming from the other room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Satterthwaite, Gussie, and I looked at each other with a wild surmise like those chaps upon a peak in Darien, but no one seemed to know any more than anyone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I ran out into the hall, the others not far behind, to find that a small, noisily inquisitive crowd had already assembled. Being a tall and willowy sort, I craned over the rest to see the casualty that had occurred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A vase lay in pieces, shattered upon the hardwood floor, and of course, none other than Stinker Pinker stood over it, apologizing to any who would listen. Stiffy played the role of the dogged officer of a rather more threatening sort than the usual lot, insisting that there was nothing to see here, if we could all very well carry on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shook my head at the poor chap with a bit of sympathy, and then, that mystery satisfactorily solved, at last returned to my room with the thought of diving into another rather more complex affair. Jeeves was nowhere to be seen, and so I settled into the chair by the fire and picked back up my book; it was only a matter of time before the first body fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was just getting to the good bit when a knock sounded at the door. I was about to call out, but the footsteps retreated just as quickly as they had come, as though whoever it was had realized they’d been knocking at the wrong door. However, before I could return to my book, I noticed a small slip of paper sticking out from under the door that certainly had not been there before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My curiosity greatly piqued, I put aside my novel and retrieved it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scrawled across the paper was what appeared to be a note, something of a poem in fact, though I couldn’t place it; “My love for you shines like the stars,” and beneath it, “Will you join me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was rather bracing stuff, if I said so myself, on something of the brazen side, if that’s the word I mean, to say the thing outright like that. It was hardly the usual way for Jeeves to indicate that he wanted me to join him for a late night stroll or what not, but I certainly couldn’t refuse the chap, not with an invitation like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I glanced over the note again to be sure I hadn’t misread it, already beaming, before tossing it into the fire to be safe - I didn’t want to think what the chaps at the Junior Ganymede would say if such a note ever reached their hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I then straightened my tie before stepping out into the darkened corridor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all the commotion, everything was still and silent aside from perhaps an occasional distant creak, no doubt made by a maid cleaning in some far corner of the house. I crept along, careful not to be heard - I had no desire to answer curious inquiries as to why I might still be out and about at such an hour after everyone was ostensibly abed. I passed by a row of rooms occupied by my fellow guests without incident. All was calm until-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A loud crash sounded from just below me. I jumped as it echoed around the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I heard footsteps come running, the lights flickered on, and then someone let out a bloodcurdling scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I looked over the railing, down into the lower level, and there, on the ground directly below where I stood, lay a man, not just any man, but Roderick Spode - Lord Sidcup - sprawled out on the floor, and beside him was a heavy bust, split from the impact. It did not take Jeeves to figure out what had happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I opened my mouth to shout something to someone, but no sound came out. I found myself utterly dumbstruck, I mean, at a loss for words of any kind. Not that it mattered; the girl’s scream would have raised the dead. As it was, everyone came running.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only when I noticed their eyes glancing between the chap on the ground and myself directly up above that my heart seemed to drop from my chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Bertie!” Madeline exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment I thought she was going to drop in a faint as always seemed to happen in such novels, but I suppose before she had the chance, Angela ushered her from the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From there, my dear Aunt Dahlia took charge, sending Jeeves for the police - though I rather wished he’d stay behind - and then she waved me into her study. I could only follow, lost in something of a daze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sat down on the other side of the desk, feeling rather small all of a sudden, not helped by the aunt, deserving as she was, standing over me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bertie, what did you do?” she asked - “this time” was left implied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t do anything!” I exclaimed at last, coming rather abruptly to life, though it hardly felt like real life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I had to think to remember - it felt like ages had passed since I had left my room. “I- I  was just going for a walk, you know to get some fresh air and what not. I came out onto the landing and then I heard that terrible crash down below, and the light came on, and the girl screamed, and I looked down and saw Spode lying there, and that was when everyone came running.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you just bumped into the bust, like your friend Pinker?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! I didn’t touch it!” I surprised myself with my own outburst, my whole body was shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I fell back into the chair, my head in my hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, he can’t really be, well, dead, can he?” I asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aunt Dahlia put a gentle hand on my shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I heard a quiet cough coming from directly behind me. I turned around and looked up and could hardly believe my eyes - there was Jeeves, as though he had materialized into the room without the door opening to admit him. But his expression betrayed no good news.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am afraid so, sir,” he said quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I buried my h. in my hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on, Bertie,” Aunt Dahlia said, giving me a bit of a nudge. “Jeeves and I will sort everything out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeeves helped me to my feet and I gave the chap a final pleading look before the door closed behind me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was left to trudge back downstairs to await the arrival of the police. Most everyone had dispersed by the time I got there, but those that remained watched me with wary eyes that seemed to make no effort to conceal their suspicions. I particularly recall Mr. Satterthwaite watching me with those sharp, curious e. of his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I retreated into the parlour and curled up in the most comfortable chair by the dying fire, a gasper in hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Wooster, would you care for a drink?” Seppings asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I jumped at the man’s sudden appearance - though you’d think I’d be used to the service appearing and disappearing without a sound with Jeeves shimmering about and what not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, rather!” I said, making something of a quick recovery despite my rattled nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good, sir.” He poured me a generous measure of the needful. “If I may take the liberty of saying so, sir, none of us believe that you would ever mean to do such a thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I swallowed my perhaps larger than advisable gulp. “Thank you, Seppings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anything else you require, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” I said - one must wear the mask, after all, and it wasn’t like there was anything the chap could do. “Just could you tell Jeeves…” I trailed off, at a loss for what to tell him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seppings, however, took it all in stride. “Very good, sir.” He gave a little bow, and then retreated from the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I couldn’t really say how long I sat there. The night seemed to stretch on indefinitely, as it does when one is waiting for bad news, though in this instance the bad news had already arrived, and I was just left to stew in it. I don’t think I could have fallen asleep if I wanted to, but I fell into a sort of meditative daze, my mind empty of any coherent thought. Eventually, I heard the muffled sound of the door opening and heavy footsteps parading through the halls. It was all though it was another chap hearing what was going on and from some great distance at that. Words were exchanged, orders given, and then, eventually, more quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, Jeeves appeared. “The constable, sir,” was all he said, the mask perfectly in place, but even so there was something somehow reassuring about the man’s brief presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I unfurled a bit in time for the constable to make his appearance. None of the chairs or sofas seemed to appeal to the fellow, as he remained solidly on his feet, rather looming over me. I am not fond of the police in the best of times, but this occasion seemed to be a new low even for Bertram W.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re Mr. Bertram Wooster?” he got straight to the point and rather gruffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” I said with as much pride as I could muster under the circs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to hear it from you; what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This evening, you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” the fellow said, with some impatience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hesitated unsure where to begin. “Well, you see, I mean to say-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seemed to get fed up with it all and decided to answer his own question; “You were up on the landing just above where Lord Sidcup was found?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yes, I daresay I was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What were you doing there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you see” - that was all a rather awkward matter too - “I was going to head out for a walk, just for some air and all that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see…”  The chap sounded unconvinced by it all. “And then what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I got to the landing and then I heard that big crash, and the girl turned the lights on and let out a horrible scream, and I looked down and saw Spode - Lord Sidcup, I mean - there on the ground below, and then everyone else came running.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you didn’t bump into anything by any chance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! I would’ve felt it, wouldn’t I, if I’d run into that big bust or anything else for that matter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, see here, Mr. Wooster,” the man said, “if it was only an accident you have nothing to fear, but impeding an investigation, by lying or the like, is a very serious offence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say I didn’t bump into anything!” It came out with rather more vim than I meant, but by that point I was rather shaking with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The bust fell on its own then? A gust of wind?” the chap taunted me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I threw up my hands. “I don’t know about any bally bust! I was walking along minding my own business and then I heard a crash, that’s all!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The constable paced back and forth a little in front of me. “Now, Mr. Wooster, as it stands there doesn’t need to be any further investigation, but if you insist on covering it up, we’ll have no choice but to launch a full inquiry, not to mention charges of impeding police business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not covering up anything! I told you what I saw - or rather heard, or what have you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll give you some time to think it over, Mr. Wooster,” he said at last, and took his leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door had hardly closed behind the chap - or perhaps it hadn’t closed at all - before Jeeves materialized at my elbow with a quiet cough, like a sheep on a distant mountain top. He looked hardly at ease, to be expected under the circs., but there was a warmth in his gaze that did rather more for me than the crackling embers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, Jeeves,” I said at last, my voice wavering badly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Jeeves assented. “Your bath is ready, if you would like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right-o, Jeeves,”  I said, though my heart wasn’t really in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He helped me gently to my feet, and it was a good thing too, because my legs wobbled under the sudden, unexpected weight. I got my bearing quickly enough, but Jeeves didn’t lower his arm from around my waist until I was safely back in my room. We thankfully didn’t pass anyone along the way; the house had gone still and silent once more, to all appearances peaceful as though nothing had happened at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like it was all a bad dream, what?” I declared, falling back onto the bed rather solidly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I gave the chap a searching look. “You do believe me, don’t you, Jeeves? I swear I didn’t do it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that is what you say, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeeves!” I cried - if even he didn’t believe me, what chance did I have. I wondered for a wild instant if maybe I had knocked the bally thing over after all and somehow simply hadn’t noticed it in the moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeeves answered as calmly as ever, “I may hope, may I not, sir, that if you had ‘done it’, as you say, you would have informed me without any attempt at concealment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Jeeves! I don’t know what I’d do without you. You do believe me then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tremendous weight seemed to lift from my shoulders. It was as though I could breathe freely for the first time in a good number of hours. That’s all to say, I was dashed relieved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I took out a gasper, which Jeeves kindly lit, and waved him over to join me where I was seated on the edge of the bed. He obligingly settled beside me, his broad shoulder perfectly placed for me to rest my head, and his arm situated behind me in case I found I needed any additional support.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I offered Jeeves the gasper and he took a polite drag before handing it back to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, Jeeves,” I murmured, punctuated by a very tired yawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir?” Jeeves said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I didn’t really have anything in particular in mind to say, but some words found their way out of their own accord, “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you out there under the stars.” I vaguely gestured at the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t waiting too long, I hope- well, I suppose the crash made sure of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir, I am afraid it appears there’s been some misunderstanding. As pleasant as the idea of a starlit promenade sounds, I was unaware we had any plans for such a thing this evening. I was in conference with Mrs. Travers until we heard the crash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes popped open and I pushed myself upright - with perhaps a little help from Jeeves. “But if that note wasn’t from you, who could’ve it been? There certainly isn’t anyone else… someone must have gone to the wrong door!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You received a note this evening, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right before- well right before that crash and what not. I was on my way to meet you when it all happened, in fact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed? If I may see this note, sir, I may be able to make some conjecture as to who wrote it and its intended recipient.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I flushed a little. “I thought it was from you, so, well, I tossed it into the fire. You see, it was rather hot stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“About love shining like the stars and that sort of thing. Not the sort of stuff the Junior Ganymede would approve of.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good, sir. I appreciate your discretion, though in this instance it was perhaps unmerited.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t very well know that at the time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Jeeves said gently, cooling my ire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t very long; just a bit about love shining like the stars - I couldn’t place the wheeze - and then, ‘will you join me?’ not signed or anything. I suppose even with your psychology of the individual it’s hard to tell who sent it, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am afraid so, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I don’t suppose you saw anyone knock on my door and hurry away?” I asked hopefully, but really without very much hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sighed and rested the old bean back on Jeeves’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” Jeeves said, wrapping his sturdy arm around my waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, very good, Jeeves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes felt impossibly heavy and I let them fall shut. I could feel the bed calling to me, but I was remarkably comfortable as I was, all nestled up to Jeeves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I may have murmured, “Just a little longer…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For I thought I heard a whispered, “Certainly,” in reply.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even the slightest unease is enough to put Bertram Wooster off his feed, however, when it comes to the dreamless, it takes quite a bit more to keep me tossing and turning in the night. However, I put it to you that I hardly got a wink that night and when I finally awoke, it was not my usual leisurely hour, but the bright and early morn; I could hear the lark on the wing and if I looked I had little doubt I could have seen the snail crawling about on its thorn, not that anything was right with the world on that particular ‘morn.</p><p>Despite this abrupt departure from my otherwise unchanging routine, Jeeves, the remarkable cove that he is, was present just as my eyes began to open and the thought of oolong drifted into my mind - as it seemed the dreamless was out.</p><p>It took a few gulps of the restorative before I was sufficiently aware to greet the chap with a less than chipper, “What ho, Jeeves.”</p><p>“What ho, sir, if I may use the expression,” he replied.</p><p>There is something truly uncanny about the chap at times. Jeeves very well knows he can use any expression he pleases, he simply prefers the more formal language befitting a gentleman’s personal gentleman, but he also knows just how to lift my spirits when they are in need of a little bucking up.</p><p>On that particular morning, it had a rather remarkable effect. I was not quite so greatly encouraged as to return to my usual self, but I managed to unship a small beam, at least, and made the man know I was pleased to see him.</p><p>“You will be taking breakfast in your room, sir?” Jeeves asked once all of the greetings had been dispensed with.</p><p>“Yes, thank you, Jeeves.” I shuddered at the thought of sitting down to breakfast with the rest of the company.</p><p>As I picked at my toast, Jeeves reported on the goings on in the rest of the house. “Little has occurred in your absence, sir. The constable returned early this morning to question the remainder of the household and expressed some desire to speak with you, however I have informed him that you will not be available until tomorrow at the earliest.”</p><p>“Thank you, Jeeves. You truly go above and beyond.”</p><p>“You are very kind, sir.”</p><p>“Do you see any way out of it, Jeeves? I don’t think I bumped into the old bust, but it was dark and I don’t know what else it could have been - there wasn’t anyone else up there.”</p><p>“I will give the matter some consideration, if you would like, sir.”</p><p>“Yes, Jeeves. If anyone can do it, you can!” The chap’s eyes already seemed to be glittering with braininess.</p><p>“Very good, sir.”</p><p>It was with a rather lighter chest that I finally concluded breakfast. When I was done, Jeeves cleared away the dishes and readied the raiment. Still, I dressed with some solemn deliberation, preparing to brave the company at last. I felt rather like my noble ancestors, donning their armor to march off to Agincourt for the sake of their honor.</p><p>Jeeves, ever the loyal retainer, followed me downstairs. I could feel everyone staring as I passed. I knew their suspicions, but I did what I could to hold my head high. At last, I settled in the mercifully quiet sitting room for my morning gasper.</p><p>It was some time later, I had resumed my novel, when I heard the distant sound of someone at the door. I initially paid it no heed, assuming it was only another officer or some other such official here to see Aunt Dahlia or Madeline about all the matters that needed attending to.</p><p>And then Seppings came into the sitting room and announced, “A Mr. Hercule Poirot.”</p><p>I glanced up at Jeeves only to find that the fellow had abruptly gone all stuffed-frog. He stood even more stiffly than usual, his eyes staring seemingly unseeing into the beyond - though I very well knew there was nothing he missed. I could only wonder what had caused the transformation, but it could be nothing good.</p><p>But I believe it is at this juncture that I ought to hand the narrative over to the much acclaimed Arthur Hastings:</p><p> </p><p>For my part of the tale, I believe the only way to begin is to wind the clock back a few hours. My friend, the esteemed detective Hercule Poirot, who you may have heard of in connection with any of the countless cases he’s pursued since his arrival in England a few years back, was out all morning. When he returned to our flat, it was only to hurry me out along with him.</p><p>“There is no time to waste, Hastings,” the little Belgian declared, neatly folding the paper I had so carelessly tossed aside. “It is, as you say in English, the canary.”</p><p>I had no idea what to make of that, and as we boarded the train for the countryside, Poirot was hardly more forthcoming.</p><p>“It is a very serious matter,” was all he said. “I can only hope that we are not too late.”</p><p>However, as we rolled into the station at Market Snodsbury, something began to stir in my memory and when Poirot called for a cab to bring us to Brinkley Court, it snapped into place.</p><p>“That’s where Lord Sidcup just died. I only read about it in the paper this morning!” I exclaimed.</p><p>Poirot hushed me, but not as emphatically as I might have expected. “Yes, Hastings, most astute.”</p><p>“You think it was murder then?” I asked eagerly, in at least an attempt at a hushed voice. “The papers were saying it was all just an accident.”</p><p>“A man is found standing just above the lifeless victim; it seems open and shut, no? But we shall see,” Poirot said with his usual evasiveness - I had some feeling he was mocking me.</p><p>The scene of the crime - as I presumed it was, given that Poirot had dragged me several hours across the countryside to get there - was one of those stately old country manors that are scattered throughout the English countryside. Every respectable village has at least one, and in many cases a few. I didn’t have much time to enjoy the grounds as Poirot went straight to business.</p><p>The respectable old butler, Seppings, greeted us at the door, and took us up to see the lady of the house, Mrs. Dahlia Travers. She was a red-faced older woman, more forceful than beautiful, who it seemed could only be at home in a country house such as this one, spending her days hunting and riding through the woods. She spared only a single glance at Poirot and I, and a second for Poirot’s card.</p><p>“What is it you want?” she asked pointedly once the butler had gone from the room. I had a distinct impression she wouldn’t hesitate to make life difficult for us if she didn’t like the answer.</p><p>My friend, however, began fearlessly, “My name is Hercule Poirot, perhaps you have heard of me.”</p><p>Mrs. Travers cut him off unceremoniously, “We don’t have any need for a detective. It’s a tragedy, but it was all an accident, pure and simple.”</p><p>“Yes, so I have heard,” Poirot continued more delicately. “It was your nephew, M. Wooster, who is presumed to have made this accident, that is correct?”</p><p>“Yes,” she sighed, “the foolish blot. Bertie has a heart of gold, but he couldn’t find his head if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders. He’s stubborn as an ass, but that’s no reason to call in a detective.”</p><p>It seemed a frankly unfair way to talk about her nephew, but Poirot, of course, paid it no heed; “I have come of my own accord, Mme. Travers. Your nephew, I fear, is suspected of murder” - he held up his hand and spoke before Mrs. Travers could interrupt him, which she looked like she very much wanted to - “and I would like to offer my services in his defense.”</p><p>“That’s all very nice of you, but hardly necessary,” she insisted.</p><p>“I am afraid you misunderstand, Mme. Travers. Your nephew claims to have done nothing, that is correct?”</p><p>“He’s just being stubborn.”</p><p>“I fear it is worse than that. I believe M. Wooster has been framed by an individual most dangerous. I am not at liberty to go into it any further, but I have reason to believe that his very life is in danger.”</p><p>“It’s very civic-minded of you to bring it to my attention, but if you think I’m paying a small fortune for some-”</p><p>Poirot waved her to silence before she said something that truly offended him. “I have my own little interest in this case. I expect no payment, only your cooperation. And, of course, my discretion is guaranteed.”</p><p>Mrs. Travers seemed ready to argue with him, but at the last minute, changed her mind and said, “Oh, all right. What sort of cooperation is it you want?”</p><p>“Could you tell me what happened - from the beginning? Any detail, no matter how insignificant, may in fact be of the utmost importance.”</p><p>“Starting with breakfast yesterday morning?” she retorted.</p><p>“Ah, thank you, Mme. Travers, but that will not be necessary. Perhaps it would be best to commence with a brief portrait of each member of the household, if it is not too much trouble.”</p><p>“Very well,”  she said, though she didn’t entirely sound pleased about it. “My husband Tom is in Harrogate taking the cure for his indigestion, leaving just myself and the staff.”</p><p>“And those would be?”</p><p>“There’s Seppings, the butler, who you’ve already met, Anatole, our chef, and of course the chauffeur and the parlourmaid.”</p><p>“All a long time in the service with excellent references, of course?” Poirot asked with a wave. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said Poirot seemed disinterested by the whole thing.</p><p>“Of course!” Mrs. Travers said, indignant as anyone would be at such a line of questioning.</p><p>“And now, I come to the guests. Lord Sidcup was one, no?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And the others?”</p><p>“Well, you seem to know about my nephew, Bertie Wooster, harmless, if a bit negligible when it comes to intelligence. And then there’s my daughter, Angela and her husband, Hildebrand Glossop. Lady Sidcup, Madeline, is here of course, as well as her cousin, Stephanie, and Harold Pinker. And some friends; Augustus and Emerald Fink-Nottle, and Mr. Satterthwaite.”</p><p>“You are hosting quite the party.”</p><p>“Yes, I always like to have company, but Tom hates the crowds.”</p><p>“And your guests, did they bring any servants?”</p><p>“Of course, I couldn’t forget Jeeves; Bertie’s valet. He could give you a run for your money.”</p><p>“I see,” Poirot said gravely - he didn’t seem to take too well to the competition, though it sounded like Mrs. Travers was exaggerating to me. “Now, if you would walk me through the events of the night of the tragedy, starting after dinner, if you please.”</p><p>“You couldn’t just ask the constable?” she said impatiently.</p><p>“I would like to hear it from yourself, Madam, if it is not too great an inconvenience.”</p><p>“Fine, fine. After dinner we all went into the parlour - everyone except Madeline, who wasn’t feeling well. We all milled around for the most part; I admit it wasn’t the most cheerful evening. A small argument broke out, and then-”</p><p>“Between whom?” Poirot interjected.</p><p>“Sp- Lord Sidcup and Hildebrand, I think, but it wasn’t anything serious, you know how these men are. Anyway, after that we all went up. It was still early, at that point, so I called Bertie’s man Jeeves into the study to ask him about finding a new maid - he’s better than the agency. That was when I heard a terrible crash and came running into the hall, to find, well- you know the rest.”</p><p>I expected Poirot to probe a bit deeper, but to my surprise, he said, “Yes, that will suffice. Just a few little questions, and then I will be out of your way. While your butler, M. Seppings, was bringing us in, I noticed a vase of yours had been broken. It may be nothing, but could you tell me what is the cause of it, just to satisfy a little curiosity?”</p><p>“Oh, that - I’d forgotten about it after everything. That was Harold Pinker’s doing, just as we were all going up after dinner last night. He’s never been able to go a few feet without knocking something over.”</p><p>“<em>Eh bien</em>, thank you for satisfying my little curiosity. Just another little thing.”</p><p>“Yes?” she said, her impatience returned.</p><p>“The manservant, M. Jeeves of so many accolades, how long has he been in the employ of your nephew?”</p><p>That seemed to give Mrs. Travers some pause. “It must be more than ten years now. It makes me feel old just thinking about it. Jeeves could tell you down to the day.”</p><p>“Ten years?” Poirot asked, surprised for once, though I couldn’t see why it mattered. “Not less?”</p><p>“Maybe more like fifteen,” Mrs. Travers suggested.</p><p>“I see. that is most remarkable.”</p><p>“I’d say,” Mrs. Travers agreed.</p><p>It was one thing for Poirot to attach weight to such an irrelevant fact, but I could only wonder why Mrs. Travers bothered to agree with him.</p><p>Poirot seemed to be of a similar mind, because he practically jumped on it. “Why do you say that?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, such an intelligent man like Jeeves working for an absolute fool like Bertie, but they seem to get along.”</p><p>“Yes, it is a mystery, is it not?” Poirot said, again surprising me with his gravity, but in a moment it was gone. “Thank you, Mme. Travers, for your time. If you will permit me, I would now like to interview the remainder of your household and guests.”</p><p>“Go ahead.” She waved us off.</p><p>Poirot gave a funny little bow, and then we took our leave.</p><p>“She doesn’t seem to like her nephew very much,” I remarked, once we’d put a little distance between ourselves and the study door.</p><p>“Your intuitions, they are <em> magnifique</em>, Hastings.”</p><p>“Really?” I had a distinct feeling I was being mocked.</p><p>“It is quite the contrary,”  Poirot elaborated, “everything she said, it was with the intent of shielding her nephew. He is not smart enough to commit murder, she says, it is only an accident and he is only being stubborn and proud insisting otherwise. I fear she does not see the real danger.”</p><p>“And what’s that?” I insisted. “It seems open and shut to me.”</p><p>“Does it, Hastings? Eh, well, stay on your guard nonetheless.”</p><p>I begged him to tell me more, but we were soon accosted by the butler, Seppings - a perfectly respectable English butler as you’d expect in such an old manor house.</p><p>As he led us down to the sitting room where Mr. Wooster was waiting, Poirot took the opportunity to ask a few questions. “You have been employed at Brinkley Court for some time?”</p><p>“Yes, sir. Since before Mrs. Glossop was born.”</p><p>“That is very admirable. You are familiar, then, with M. Wooster’s manservant, M. Jeeves?”</p><p>“Yes, sir. He’s been with Mr. Wooster for over twenty years now, I’ve had the opportunity to make his acquaintance.”</p><p>“Twenty years?” Poirot said, again surprised. “Mme. Travers was saying only ten or fifteen.”</p><p>“If you’ll forgive my saying, sir, it must be more than twenty because Mr. Wooster had only just left Oxford, and that was in the 90’s.”</p><p>“You see, it thickens, Hastings,” Poirot declared.</p><p>I could only shrug.</p><p>“And what do you make of this man, M. Jeeves, whom you have known for so long?” Poirot continued.</p><p>“He is always very helpful when Mr. Wooster visits the hall, sir, both with household tasks and any personal troubles that may arise. His ear is greatly sought after in the servant’s hall and among Mr. Wooster’s friends and family.”</p><p>“And in regards to M. Wooster?”</p><p>“He is particularly loyal to Mr. Wooster, sir.” Seppings paused at the door to the sitting room. “If I may take the liberty of saying so, sir, we are all fond of Mr. Wooster. None of us believe he would do such a thing on purpose.”</p><p>“Thank you, M. Seppings, I am in agreement. I fear this matter is more serious than it appears and that M. Wooster is in grave danger.”</p><p>“I can endeavor to keep an eye on him, sir.”</p><p>“Thank you, M. Seppings. It is a relief to know that he is in good hands.”</p><p>Only then did Seppings open the door to the sitting room and announce our arrival.</p><p>Sitting by the fire was an early middle-aged man, though there was still something youthful about his features. He looked distinctly concerned and a little wide-eyed, glancing between us and the room’s only other occupant - a tall and broad-shouldered man who must have dwarfed Poirot, but one hardly even noticed it as he seemed to blend into the furniture; he was the very image of the perfect servant, without any expression or life about him at all.</p><p>Poirot nodded to him and then to Mr. Wooster. “M. Wooster, if it would not trouble you excessively, I would like to ask a few small questions.”</p><p>Mr. Wooster sighed. “Very good. I suppose you’ll have to go, Jeeves.”</p><p>To my surprise, the statue - apparently this Jeeves I had already heard so much about - seemed to move, though it seemed no more alive. “If I may take the liberty of remaining, sir?”</p><p>I expected Mr. Wooster to censure him, and rightly so, but he seemed inclined to do nothing of the sort.</p><p>Instead it was Poirot who said, “I am afraid it is a matter of procedure to speak with each witness alone, if you have no objections, M. Wooster.”</p><p>“Right-o. Sorry, Jeeves.”</p><p>Mr. Wooster struck me as being a particularly weak-willed gentleman and I almost expected Jeeves to argue once more, but this time his words fit his demeanor and he only replied, “Very good, sir,” and with a small bow retreated from the room.</p><p>Mr. Wooster put aside his book as Poirot and I sat down across from him.</p><p>“Now, M. Wooster, could you tell me what it was that happened yesterday evening?”</p><p>“Right-o,” he said without much enthusiasm. “There’s not very much to tell, really. We had all gone up after dinner. I happened to just be walking along the landing over the hall when I heard that terrible crash. I don’t remember bumping into anything, but maybe I just didn’t feel it. I don’t know what else could have happened; the maid turned on the lights and there he was, on the ground just below me.” He seemed frantic enough, but I couldn’t deny it was lame as excuses go. </p><p>Poirot, however, made a show of sympathy. “I comprehend. When everyone tells you the same thing, you begin to believe it yourself. But you do not remember knocking into this bust?”</p><p>“No, I can’t say I do.”</p><p>“<em>Bien</em>, then I believe that you did not.”</p><p>“I say! You do? Believe me and all that?”</p><p>“Yes, but you are not out of the depths yet. I have good reason to believe that you have been intentionally framed.”</p><p>“Framed? But by whom?”</p><p>“Yes, M. Wooster. I have some suspicions, but it is my way not to share them until I have acquired proof. Suffice it to say that someone intends you harm. It may be nothing, but for what reason were you out on the landing?”</p><p>Mr. Wooster hesitated. “Well, there was a note you see, slipped under my door. I went up  to bed with the rest, intending to go straight to the dreamless maybe after reading a chapter or two, but then someone slipped a note under the door asking me to meet whoever it was outside and I couldn’t very well refuse.”</p><p>“That is most significant. And tell me, did this individual perchance knock at the door?”</p><p>“Yes, I believe they did!”</p><p>Poirot seemed to glean something from it, though it didn’t seem terribly relevant to me. “Might I see this note, M. Wooster?”</p><p>Again, Mr. Wooster hesitated, this time punctuated with an awkward laugh. “I’m afraid not. You see, I happened to toss the bally thing into the grate.”</p><p>With that, his already flimsy excuse seemed to me to fall apart entirely, but Poirot continued on as though there was nothing amiss. “That is unfortunate. But surely, you must have had some suspicion as to the identity of the sender who it was your intention to meet?”</p><p>“Well, I mean, not really. I asked Jeeves, but he didn’t know either.”</p><p>“Do you recall the contents of this most unusual note?”</p><p>The man fumbled, turning a little red if I wasn’t mistaken. “It wasn’t very long, just a bit of poetry about stars and what not, asking me to join whoever it was.”</p><p>“It was a <em> lettre d’amour</em>?”</p><p>“I suppose you could say that,” Mr. Wooster reluctantly admitted.</p><p>“And yet, you went to meet her without any notion who would send you such a letter?”</p><p>“Yes, that just about sums it up.”</p><p>Poirot gave Mr. Wooster a quizzical look, and I expected him to push, but at last he waved it aside. “Well, it is of no matter. Just one more small question. Your manservant, M. Jeeves, I have heard conflicting accounts; your aunt says he has served with you for ten years, M. Seppings says it has been twenty, which is the truth?”</p><p>Mr. Wooster seemed just as surprised as I was at the abrupt change in topic, but he went along with it easily enough, plainly relieved to have moved on from the supposed note. “I say, has it really been that long?” Mr. Wooster paused a moment in thought. “Jeeves would know best, of course, but I say, Seppings is right, it must be more than twenty years.”</p><p>“That is a long time for a man to hold such a post, is it not? Do you have any notion as to why he has remained with you for so long?”</p><p>“It’s one of life’s mysteries, what, why such a brainy cove like Jeeves would want to work for a chap like me. But he seems happy in the Wooster employ. Reggie Foljambe once offered him double and Jeeves still wouldn’t budge,” he said with a note of pride.</p><p>“That is remarkable, no? You know of no particular incentive for him to remain in your employ?”</p><p>Mr. Wooster hesitated. “I suppose I do what I can to make the chap comfortable and what not, but when it comes down to it it must be that feudal spirit, what?”</p><p>“And you have no complaints, M. Wooster?”</p><p>“Of course not, well his fashion sense is a touch on the reactionary side, but otherwise the chap is a marvel.” He sounded downright reverent.</p><p>“I see. Thank you for your time, M. Wooster.”</p><p>Mr. Wooster seemed taken aback by the abrupt end to the questioning, but again took it in stride. “Oh, right-o! Not at all!”</p><p>Poirot was already halfway to the door by the time I caught up and followed him out of the sitting room. As we stepped out into the hall, Poirot directed me to look back at the door from which we had come and I only just spotted Jeeves, moving silently in the opposite direction, though I couldn’t see Poirot’s point in bringing it to my attention.</p><p>“It hardly seems a mystery,” I remarked once we were comfortably out of earshot. “It’s difficult to believe Mr. Wooster would murder someone, but I don’t see who else could have done it - certainly you don’t believe all that rubbish about a note. What I don’t see is what his valet has to do with anything.”</p><p> “I agree, Hastings, it is not a mystery; it is a murder waiting to happen. M. Jeeves is a very dangerous man, I can only hope that we may still stop him.”</p><p>I was afraid my friend, the once famed Belgian detective, was losing his touch at last. It was a sad thing and I could only pity him.</p><p>Poirot shook his head. “I am serious, Hastings, if only you could see it. Take M. Wooster, for example, he is a clumsy, careless gentleman, yes?”</p><p>I agreed.</p><p>“You would expect a hair out of place, a speck of dust on the suit, the tie loose, but no, everything is perfect. Even Poirot has no complaints.”</p><p>“So, he’s more careful than he seems? Do you think he really does have a plan then?”</p><p>“No, Hastings, use your little grey cells! It is clearly the work of another, evidence of the meticulous mind of his valet who makes everything just so.”</p><p>“But, say Poirot, that’s his job, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Have you ever seen a man who wears the mask of the English servant so well? It is perfect, no? Had M. Wooster not drawn your attention to him, I believe you would not have seen him at all, as though he were a piece of furniture or part of the wall, with neither life nor feeling. A man who can deceive so well is capable of anything.”</p><p>“Even if that’s so, I don’t see what it has to do with the death of Lord Sidcup,” I insisted.</p><p>Poirot only shook his head and called the butler to take us to the next witness.</p><p>Lady Sidcup was in the parlour, surrounded by friends. In short order, I was introduced to Stephanie “Stiffy” Pinker - Lady Sidcup’s cousin who was perfectly pleasant, but also gave the distinct impression of being willing to stop at nothing to get what she wanted - Angela Glossop - Mrs. Travers’s no-nonsense daughter, who seemed quite ready to leap to Lady Sidcup’s defense - and Emerald Fink-Nottle - a friend, quiet and even-tempered to round out the lot.</p><p>After the introductions were through, the other three at last vacated the room, and we were left alone with Lady Sidcup herself; a quiet, dreamy woman, still beautiful even though she was ten years my senior, with large, sad eyes.</p><p>“My condolences, Madam,” Poirot said as he sat down across from her.</p><p>“Oh, it’s terrible, isn’t it?” Lady Sidcup exclaimed after a brief silence. “Bertie has been desperately in love with me ever since we met, but I can’t imagine he would do such a thing!”</p><p>“Has he?” I asked. I felt bad for Poirot, of course, chasing down the wrong track, but this seemed like the final piece of evidence to seal Mr. Wooster’s fate.</p><p>“Yes, life is such a sad thing, isn’t it? But he was always such a gentleman, first with Augustus, and then with Roderick, encouraging me to follow my heart even if it took me away from him. And yet, he’s also such a troubled soul.”</p><p>I had to ask, “Troubled?”</p><p>Poirot shot me a warning look to let him ask the questions, but Lady Sidcup had already begun to answer; “He’s a kleptomaniac, the poor dear, he just can’t help himself, but I hear he’s been improving, and he certainly wouldn’t do something so terrible as-” she cut herself short, as though it was too terrible to say aloud.</p><p>“This is most fascinating,” Poirot said. “Tell me, how did you discover that M. Wooster suffers from this unique ailment?”</p><p>“Oh, it was just before Roderick and I became engaged. I was engaged to Bertie at the time, but there was a whole fiasco over a piece of silver, some old antique my father had purchased - he’s a collector, you see - and alas poor Bertie was the one who stole it. Knowing that, I couldn’t very well marry the poor dear, but it’s not at all his fault, you see he just can’t help himself!”</p><p>“M. Jeeves was working in M. Wooster’s employ at this time?” Again, Poirot returned to that valet.</p><p>“Yes, of course, he was the one who told me about Bertie’s terrible affliction.”</p><p>“Thank you, Lady Sidcup, already you have been most informative. Now, could you tell me what you did yesterday evening?” Poirot asked, returning to the case at last.</p><p>Lady Sidcup drew out a handkerchief. “I had a headache at dinner, I wonder now if I didn’t know somehow, didn’t feel something, you know. I went up to lie down, and that’s where I was when I heard that awful scream. I still shudder at the thought of it.”</p><p>“And you heard the crashes as well?”</p><p>“Yes, but I didn’t think they were anything at the time.”</p><p>“Thank you, Madam, that is all. You have been most helpful.”</p><p>With a few parting words of comfort, we left Lady Sidcup sniffling in the parlour.</p><p>I could only imagine Poirot was feeling awfully foolish now that Mr. Wooster had not only been caught red-handed, but also had a motive for the murder. It would have been too cruel for me to rub it in. However, Poirot’s stubbornness never ceased to surprise me.</p><p>“Do you now see, Hastings, what M. Jeeves is endeavoring to do? He has even gone so far as to prevent M. Wooster from marrying to ensure his position.”</p><p>“I don’t see what Jeeves has to do with it! Clearly Mr. Wooster murdered Lord Sidcup to marry his wife,” I insisted.</p><p>Poirot tutted and shook his head. “When your instincts chance to be good, you do not believe them. You said yourself that it is unlikely that M. Wooster would commit murder.”</p><p>“That was before I knew he had a motive. Anyway, you certainly don’t believe he actually received that note from Lady Sidcup or one of the other ladies of the house!”</p><p>“I have always said that you are too trusting, Hastings, but no, in this case, I do not believe that they are responsible for M. Wooster’s <em> lettre d’amour</em>.”</p><p>Poirot would be goaded into saying no more on the matter as we went to interview the remainder of the household. In each case, he treated the death of Lord Sidcup in a largely cursory manner before asking about the all-important M. Jeeves. However, I was able to glean that at the time of the tragedy, Mrs. Glossop had been in her room, talking with Mrs. Fink-Nottle, Mr. Glossop had been outside, cooling off after an argument with Lord Sidcup, Mr. Fink-Nottle was in his room, Mr. and Mrs. Pinker had returned to the sitting room in search of Mrs. Pinker’s shawl, and Mr. Satterthwaite had remained in the parlour. The only thing it seemed no one had done was go to sleep.</p><p>As for Jeeves, I had learned that he’d had a hand in the marriage of nearly every couple present, reconciling arguments, convincing disapproving parents, and even helping Mr. Glossop and Mrs. Fink-Nottle’s brother-in-law earn the necessary income for supporting a family. The man seemed to do a bit of everything. The only person it seemed he hadn’t helped to matrimonial bliss was his own employer, but it was difficult to pity Mr. Wooster when all the evidence pointed to him having murdered his rival.</p><p>When we were done questioning the guests, Poirot left me in the sitting room to attend to another one of his “little ideas.” Upon his return, he said nothing further about the case, but announced, “Mme. Travers was kind enough to invite us to remain at Brinkley Court for the duration of our investigation, which will give us an opportunity to observe M. Wooster and ensure that he comes to no harm - I only hope that we will be enough. We will be expected at dinner within the hour, and you have something to look forward to, Hastings; their chef is not English, but French.”</p><p>Even after taking the time to relax by the fire, I still wasn’t feeling quite charitable toward my friend, and so I asked with some impatience, “If you’re so suspicious of Jeeves, why haven’t you interviewed him yet? Or was that your ‘little idea’ and you just didn’t want me tagging along?”</p><p>“Do not upset yourself, <em> mon ami</em>. I have not interviewed M. Jeeves because we have nothing to say to each other. He knows everything that I could say to him and I know what he would say to me.”</p><p>“Really?” I asked, incredulous.</p><p>“Do not underestimate him simply because he wears the garb of a servant. M. Jeeves is an intelligent man. He is not so foolish as to think that I do not suspect him. No, my little grey cells must work even harder than they have become accustomed to if I am to catch him in his own trap.”</p><p>I could draw nothing more out of my friend before the gong rang for dinner.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Even Anatole, God’s gift to the gastric juices though he is, couldn’t rescue dinner that evening. Bertram Wooster anticipated the ordeal with a sort of dread that only intensified over the course of the afternoon. My only solace, the unsurpassable Jeeves, had turned cold and statue-like as ever, every bit the stuffed frog even after I assured him that it turned out the detective, Hercule Poirot, was on our side after all and believed that I hadn’t so much as bumped into the bally bust. Jeeves, however, didn’t seem to hear a word of it, and so I’d sighed, and resigned myself to my reading.</p><p>When the gong rang, I trudged into the dining room to join the rest of the company. I attempted something of a smile in greeting, but quickly thought better of it as everyone’s eyes turned to me, none betraying any light of sympathy, only censuring glares all around.</p><p>Mr. Poirot and Mr. Hastings offered their sincerest condolences to the lot of us, and then we all sat down around the table.</p><p>For all the stony silence, we made for a not quite morose lot, made all the more awkward by our conspicuously dry eyes. Even Madeline, sappy as she is, made but the occasional sniffle, lamenting, as she is wont to do, how sad a thing life is. Angela sat bullishly at her side, just about ready to leap on anyone that dared make light. If anyone felt any relief at the absence of Spode, glaring at us all from his seat, no one was foolish enough to say it - even I, for all my fool-headedness, knew better.</p><p>I mean, it really was a dashed awkward thing; a man was dead and here we were gathered round the table, none the worse for it. I’d never felt a thing for the old Sidcup before, aside from the usual fear when he threatened to chase me around the house and rip out my innards, but dash it all if I didn’t feel sorry for the chap then. I could still envision him lying below me on the ground beside the shattered bust, his temple bloodied from the blow.</p><p>Between it all, it was enough to turn a chap off of even Anatole’s finest, and perhaps it was just the ambiance, but I have the distinct recollection that meal didn’t quite seem up to the man’s usual snuff.</p><p>I was occupied with my own rambling thoughts - there was hardly any conversation, what little there was hushed and not exactly in my vicinity - and so I only belatedly noticed that the chap attending the table was not Seppings, but Jeeves. It’s not such an unusual thing for Jeeves to help lighten old Seppings’s load, and usually I’m too occupied with Anatole’s toothsome masterpieces and keeping up the conversation and what not, to pay him much heed when we’re out in company. However, on this particular e., I had not much of that to occupy me, and so once I had noticed the chap, I watched his reflection in the window, hovering behind me throughout the meal. There was almost something ethereal about the man, reflected like the flickering light of the candles.</p><p>He made no move to acknowledge me, of course. It would have hardly been the proper thing to do even if no one would have noticed him, and he was still too much the stuffed frog for anything less than perfect propriety. When his gaze seemed to focus anywhere, it was on Mr. Poirot, though even then I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light.</p><p>After all that, it was only propriety that forbade the assembled from going directly up to bed, at least that was how it seemed to me. Instead, we all trickled out of the dining room, into the parlour for another evening of milling about. Angela, Madeline, Stiffy, and Em were huddled in a corner. The most enthusiastic conversation came from Mr. Hastings, talking eagerly, but still in hushed voices, with Stinker about what I took to be village rugby, as Tuppy listened listlessly on. The aged aunt was talking to Mr. Poirot. And Mr. Satterthwaite had resumed his seat in the corner to observe us all like some grand play, though I hardly felt we warranted it.</p><p>Gussie had taken a glass of orange juice and gone up for the night and I was considering doing the same - with an s. and b. in the place of orange juice, of course. However, before I had the chance to beat a hasty retreat, I spotted Jeeves shimmering in with the drinks. I can tell you he was a sight for sore e., truly a weight seemed to fall from my tired s. despite the chap’s recent mood, and I was about to join him when I was accosted by Mr. Poirot.</p><p>“M. Wooster, a word, if you please?” Mr. Poirot said.</p><p>“Oh, right-o,” I said with a lingering glance at Jeeves - the fellow was looking in my direction, but if he saw me, he made no indication of it - and allowed Poirot to lead me away, just out into the corridor.</p><p>“It is just a little idea of mine,” he said. “It may be nothing, but we will see. Your manservant, M. Jeeves, have you willed him a legacy?”</p><p>With the inauspicious way he’d started - if inauspicious is the word I mean - I was ready for news of the worst sort, but that I could answer with a smile. “Rather! I mean, of course, after everything the chap has done for me, I couldn’t just leave him with nothing, if, well, anything happened to me.”</p><p>But Mr. Poirot seemed less enthusiastic on the matter. “May I ask how much you have left him?”</p><p>My smile turned a bit sheepish. “Jeeves would know better than I,” I admitted, “he’s the one who manages the Wooster fortune, as it were. You see, aside from a bit for my cousins and what-not, well, I’ve left him the lot of it. I mean, I don’t want the chap to ever have to want for anything, and I dare say he could make better use of it all than I do.”</p><p>“I see,” Mr. Poirot said gravely. “That is most grave.”</p><p>“I don’t see what matter it is to you,” I retorted, detective or not, only belatedly remembering to flick a speck of lint off the Michelin lace cuffs as one does in such a posish.</p><p>Mr. Poirot, however, was far from being apologetic. “I have reason to believe that M. Jeeves is a very dangerous man, who will stop at nothing to get whatever it is he wants. You see that this will of yours places you in a most precarious position.”</p><p>I blinked owlishly at the chap, hardly able to register what it was he was saying. “What are you saying?” I demanded.</p><p>“I comprehend that this must come as a shock, M. Wooster, however-”</p><p>I cut him off; I would hear no such howevers. “You’re speaking rot and I will hear not another word of slander against my loyal man!”</p><p>“It has already been set in motion” - the little chap sounded quite dire.</p><p>“<em>Tchau</em>,” I said, turning away, and I meant it to sting.</p><p>I went directly back into the parlour, but I didn’t remain there long before heading up to bed.</p><p>However, on my way, I was accosted, not by Mr. Poirot this time, but by his associate, Mr. Hastings.</p><p>“I say! What’s the meaning of this?” Mr. Hastings demanded without even a “What ho!” in greeting.</p><p>“I say!” I replied, still a bit miffed. “What’s the meaning of what?”</p><p>“All that about Poirot being a danger and up to no good as though he was a suspect! If you’re trying to distract us from the trail, I can tell you now it isn’t going to work.”</p><p>This was all news to me. “This is news to me,” I said. “I certainly haven’t heard anything of that sort.”</p><p>“There’s no use denying it,” Mr. Hastings insisted. “I know it was your man, Jeeves, who told me.”</p><p>That came as a surprise. “Jeeves? Why would the chap say a thing like that?”</p><p>“Because you told him to, why else?”</p><p>“Hardly! Why would I tell Jeeves to tell you that Mr. Poirot is dangerous? I barely know the fellow. In fact, your chum, Mr. Poirot, said the same thing to me about Jeeves.”</p><p>“Did he really?” Mr. Hastings asked, but he didn’t sound so surprised.</p><p>“Rather! And I didn’t go beef to you about it.”</p><p>“Poirot’s had a bee in his bonnet about your man Jeeves ever since we got here,” Mr. Hastings said wearily. “But you mean for me to believe you really didn’t tell Jeeves to warn me about Poirot, that the man did it all on his own accord?”</p><p>“Well, I certainly didn’t tell him! Jeeves does all manner of things without my saying so; the chap would never get anything done if he had to ask for my approval about everything. But I say, I wonder why he did it. He hasn’t exactly been himself ever since you and Mr. Poirot arrived, but telling you your chum is a danger is a bit thick, even for Jeeves.” I had already started to worry a bit for the chap, and this hardly assuaged my fears - if that’s the word for it.</p><p>I’d all but forgotten that Mr. Hastings was still there, eyeing me with what I rather suspected was suspicion.</p><p>“It’s more than ‘a bit thick,’” he retorted and he seemed quite prepared to say more, but stopped himself short when it came around to the actual speaking and appeared to think better of it.</p><p>Instead, he just bid me a stiff good evening and what not, and we each biffed off.</p><p>I hightailed it straight for my room. Jeeves was already there to hold the door open when I arrived.</p><p>“I say, Jeeves, what’s all this about warning Mr. Hastings about his pal, Mr. Poirot, being up to no good?” I remarked as I stepped in front of the mirror and started with the raiment, tugging at my tie.</p><p>Jeeves shimmered over without a word and undid it in a single motion.</p><p>“Yes, thank you, Jeeves,” I said.</p><p>He still made no reply.</p><p>I really looked at the chap hovering about in the mirror, removing this, unbuttoning that, untying something else. His wide hands were as delicate and efficient as ever, but they may as well have belonged to a statue for all the expression his chiseled features betrayed. There was undoubtedly something of the stuffed frog about him.</p><p>I caught Jeeves’s hand just as he made to divest me of my shirt and gave the chap a real look in the e. “I say, something troubling you, old fruit?”</p><p>“No, sir,” Jeeves replied, no less stuffed, and withdrew his hand for good measure.</p><p>“Jeeves,” I insisted, “this isn’t like you.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>I turned to face him directly. “I say, there’s something troubling you, and I want to know what.”</p><p>“It is nothing, sir.”</p><p>I sighed. The day had been on the long-ish side already.</p><p>“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” Jeeves said more gently.</p><p>The chap still looked like he was wearing that bally mask, but he was perhaps a little less stuffed as Jeeves goes.</p><p>“Right ho, Jeeves,” I said at last.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bertram W. is never the most chipper of chaps in the early morn - or whatever time it is that I happen to find myself thrust from the dreamless back into the world of the living. However, aside from those late nights of revelry at the Drones, after a gulp or two of oolong and a few tentative bites of breakfast, I typically find myself feeling some manner of refreshed and renewed. It is a rare day that I greet feeling, on the whole, rather more worn down than I was when I lay down the night before.</p><p>Jeeves shimmered in with the tea before my eyes were even open, but a bracing gulp did little to buck me up. Breakfast, likewise - also taken in the privacy of my room - I could only manage a bite or two, which is not so remarkable, but that morning not even fresh kippers could entice me. It would not take Jeeves to figure out what it was that was looming over me so, but the chap had put back on the stuffed frog act, and so I was left to pick at my breakfast in what could have passed for solitude, even as he loomed over me, silent and expressionless.</p><p>“What now, Jeeves?” I asked, giving the thing up for the time being.</p><p>“Sir?” he said, unmoved.</p><p>“What are we to do? I mean to say, Spode, or Sidcup, or what have you has kicked the bucket and I’ve been as good as caught red handed. And, if it’s not me, it’s you that this Mr. Poirot suspects.”</p><p>“Indeed, sir.”</p><p>I hardly expected the chap to leap about and roll his eyes, I very well know it’s not the Jeevesian way, but I rather needed something more than an “indeed, sir” from the chap.</p><p>“I say, Jeeves,”  I said, “I rather need something more than an ‘indeed, sir’ under such dire circs.! You must have thought of something!”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>“Do you mean to say ‘No, sir’ as in you’re still puzzling it all out but certain to come to a solution, or do you intend to say that you see no s. forthcoming?” I demanded</p><p>“I could not say, sir,” he said, as though he hadn’t been thinking about it at all.</p><p>“I don’t get this, Jeeves!” I exclaimed at last, my patience as it was worn rather thin. “You’ve been out of sorts ever since that bally detective arrived, but we may as well be hanged for murder for all you seem to care about it!”</p><p>“Sir,” Jeeves said a little sharply - and I admit I deserved it, having gone perhaps a bit too far - “I expect that you have no reason to concern yourself with the investigation.”</p><p>“What is it you’re so concerned with if not the dashed investigation?” I reached out to the chap, but he remained out of reach.</p><p>“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” Jeeves said serenely, as though his composure had never so much as faltered.</p><p>I looked at the chap again - it seemed looking at him was all I could manage to do. Jeeves didn’t seem entirely unmoved, though it was a near thing. He stood there statuesque, as though he were quietly hoping I would forget he was there at all and move on, but he had no such luck.</p><p>“Pish!” I declared.</p><p>I put aside my fork and called breakfast at its end even though most of my plate had gone untouched, or only picked at.</p><p>I stepped out into the hall with some inclination of going for a walk in the gardens to clear my head, which conferred the added benefit of being able to avoid the rest of the company, who, while all charming companions under any ordinary circs., had turned rather awkward in light of recent events.</p><p>However, on my way down, I ran into Mr. Poirot’s chum, Hastings, who may as well have not moved at all from where we parted ways the evening before.</p><p>I greeted him with a less than enthusiastic, “What ho.”</p><p>The chap didn’t look quite pleased to see me, but he kept up the conversation cordially enough as we walked down together; “Something troubling you?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s Jeeves,” I said, glad to get it off my chest, to tell the truth. “I don’t know what’s gotten into the chap. He’s usually the very embodiment of the feudal spirit and what not, but now, when every party ought to flock ‘round, he’s acting dashed cold and indifferent.”</p><p>Hastings faltered a bit. “Well, I mean, what can you expect?”</p><p>Clearly, the fellow wasn’t versed in the ways of Jeeves. “I expect any old chap would run the other way, but Jeeves is a fish-fed marvel. He’s fished me out of the soup more times than I can count. If only he thought it was worth his time, he’d have it all sorted out in a flash and there’d be no more talk of knocking into busts or any of that rot!”</p><p>“You know, interfering with an investigation is a serious offence,” Hastings said, reminding me unpleasantly of my old university crony, Stilton Cheesewright, when he was on the beat as a copper for an odd month or two. </p><p>“He wouldn’t be interfering any more than your pal, Mr. Poirot,” I retorted.</p><p>Hastings seemed ready to retort back, but gave up with a sigh. “I don’t know what Poirot is getting at. The case looks open and shut to me - begging your pardon - but he’s gone chasing after that valet of yours.”</p><p>I had enough pride to be insulted by the insinuation, of course, but my sympathy for the chap outweighed my indignation. “I say! And rather than leaping to the y. m.’s defense, Jeeves has tied himself all in a knot, apparently over your pal Poirot. I don’t know what’s gotten into the man.”</p><p>At this point, we made it to the sitting room, and finding it mercifully empty, settled around the fire for an after breakfast gasper. I took a drag and made an attempt at blowing a ring of smoke into the air, but I only ended up with a puff - Jeeves excels at blowing smoke rings as he does at all things, but I’ve never quite managed it.</p><p>“I’m worried for the chap,” I remarked, thinking aloud as much as speaking to Hastings. “You wouldn’t know it from how he’s been since you and Mr. Poirot showed up, but Jeeves doesn’t get all tied up over things so easily.”</p><p>“He hasn’t seemed tied up at all to me,” Hastings put in.</p><p>“It’s the stuffed frog,” I explained. “He gets like that whenever there’s trouble or I won’t get rid of the new shirts he doesn’t approve of, or what not. But he’s hardly ever shy about the cause of it. And he wouldn’t ignore something so important as well, the current posish., without a dashed good reason. No, I’m afraid there’s something troubling the chap, but dashed if I know.”</p><p>“You’re sure that’s not just it? I’ve seen even the best servants at the end of their wits after someone’s died in the house.”</p><p>I shook my head. “No, Jeeves is never at the end of his wits, and it would take a lot more than old Sidcup keeling over to perturb the chap. It almost seems like he really thinks your pal Poirot is, well, a danger. The chap didn’t even blink an eye at Spode threatening to break my spine, but I would almost say he seems, well, afraid of Mr. Poirot.”</p><p>“Let me get this straight,” Hastings said, “you think your valet, Jeeves, who you say isn’t afraid of anything, is afraid of Poirot? I admit Poirot seems to have it in for him, but that’s just one of his ‘little ideas.’”</p><p>“I say, it’s a dashed rummy thing, isn’t it? And I don’t know what I can do for the chap. If only he’d tell me what’s really troubling him.”</p><p>There was a bit of a silence as I mulled it all over, and then, suddenly, “Excuse me-”</p><p>I very nearly jumped in surprise at the intrusion, having assumed Hastings and myself were the only ones in the sitting room, and the chap had come over as quietly as Jeeves himself. But, as it turned out, Hastings and I were not the only inhabitants of the sitting room as Mr. Satterthwaite had made assuredly clear.</p><p>“Mr. Wooster, Mr. Hastings.” Mr. Satterthwaite nodded to each of us in turn. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re concerned about Mr. Jeeves.”</p><p>“I am,” I acknowledged - there was no use in concealing the fact.</p><p>“I may be able to clarify a point or two for you, if you would like.”</p><p>“I say! Really? What do you mean?”</p><p>Mr. Satterthwaite paused for a moment, a bit more purposefully than a hesitation. “I happen to know that Mr. Jeeves and Mr. Poirot are - I suppose they’ve been calling each other cousins.”</p><p>My eyes could have popped from their sockets, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed to explain just about everything. Ever since Jeeves’s mad cousin Erik had kidnapped us in Paris, it seemed his cousins were the only things Jeeves was ever really afraid of. There was only one objection as far as I could see; “But, Mr. Poirot is Belgian, what? He couldn’t have very well grown up with Jeeves and Bunny and the lot on the English moor!”</p><p>Mr. Satterthwaite shook his head. “He may have gone to Belgium, but I would recognize them anywhere.”</p><p>“You mean to say you know Jeeves and Mr. Poirot? But how?”</p><p>Then Mr. Satterthwaite really did hesitate. “I met them recently after,” he said delicately.</p><p>“Like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson did?”</p><p>It was only then that Hastings seemed to catch up with Mr. Satterthwaite and myself. “What’s all this about Poirot and your valet being cousins? I knew Poriot in Belgium before - he was the chief of police - you must have the wrong man! And he didn’t mention knowing Mr. Satterthwaite at all.”</p><p>“He was one of the first to leave, even before Mr. Holmes got back in 1894,” Mr. Satterthwaite explained. “No one knew where he went - he didn’t want to be followed. And it is little surprise that Mr. Poirot does not recognize me; we barely met and I have changed substantially since then. I knew Jeeves a little better.”</p><p>“Even if they are cousins, which is impossible, what does that have to do with anything?” Hastings insisted.</p><p>“It’s not my place to say.”</p><p>I admit there was something distinctly satisfying about hearing someone else be told that it was their turn to wait and find out in their own time, having heard it myself more times than I rather cared from Jeeves’s friends and relations alike. Hastings would just have to wait his turn.</p><p>I regarded Hastings with a good measure of sympathy. “Perhaps you’ll find out one day. Though, I’m afraid if Mr. Poirot is anything like Jeeves, he’ll be in no rush to tell.”</p><p>“What is there to tell?” Hastings demanded, no less perplexed.</p><p>I could only shake my head. “Only Mr. Poirot can tell you that.” I turned back to Mr. Satterthwaite. “Thank you, the Woosters owe you our greatest gratitude.”</p><p>“Jeeves has helped all of us on more than one occasion, it’s the least I can do to return the favor,” Mr. Satterthwaite said.</p><p>I nodded along. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay the chap for everything he’s done for me, but I do what I can.”</p><p>I took a bracing drag on the gasper.</p><p>Then I stood and said, with grave purpose, “Hastings, where’s your chum, Mr. Poirot?”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Poirot, as it turned out, was out on the lawn, meandering in our direction.</p><p>“I say, what do you intend to accomplish with all this?” Hastings asked, following me close behind.</p><p>I took another drag, wishing Jeeves was on hand with a stiff drink, but with or without Jeeves, this was something I needed to do. Mr. Poirot wasn’t so intimidating, just a funny little chap with a game leg, with nowhere to hide a terrible lasso like the one that Jeeves’s truly horrid cousin Erik had. But I was hardly looking forward to the confrontation.</p><p>At last, I bucked up my courage, thinking of my ancestors at Agincourt and strode up to the chap ready with a glare that I shudder to think may have done my Aunt Agatha proud. It was not a time for “What ho”s, instead I held my head high with aristocratic pride and cut straight to the quick of the matter - if that’s the expression I want.</p><p>“Mr. Poirot, I say, this has gone on quite long enough.”</p><p>Mr. Poirot is a tougher chap than he seems. He didn’t falter, only looked up at me with something of a smile and doffed his hat in greeting. “Good afternoon, M. Wooster. There is something troubling you?”</p><p>“I’d say there is! Your jig - or whatever dance it is you’re doing - is up; I know that you’re one of Jeeves’s bally cousins, but whatever he did to you when you were out on the moor, that’s no reason to get the man hung for it! I very well know that you did just as bad to him.”</p><p>Mr. Poirot’s smile was gone. I expected the chap to be angry, to accuse me of having made the whole lot up - and then I would have been sunk for sure, and carted off to the madhouse, I expect - but he seemed only astonished.</p><p>“Now see here!” Hastings exclaimed, ready to rush to his friend’s defence, but Mr. Poirot waved him to silence.</p><p>“You are mistaken, M. Wooster. It is not revenge I seek, only to stop a dangerous man before it is too late. But tell me, how did you come to know all of this? Surely M. Jeeves did not explain it to you.”</p><p>“Well, not exactly,” I admitted. “I’ve rather picked up bits and pieces along the way. But that’s not the point! I know what you’re trying to do; you’re just like Erik - Eecue Jeeves calls him - trying to get revenge on Jeeves for crippling your leg, but I know you would have done worse to him if you had the chance, and that’s all over now; getting Jeeves hung won’t fix your leg and it’s worse than anything he’s ever done!”</p><p>“You know of E-Q?”</p><p>“We met him in Paris,” I answered shortly, not to be distracted from the point.</p><p>“But surely, this is all nonsense!” Hastings exclaimed, glancing between myself and Mr. Poirot.</p><p>Mr. Poirot’s attention swiftly turned from myself to his friend. He shook his head. “I am sorry, Hastings, <em> mon ami</em>. There is much I have concealed about my own history. I thought it was not relevant, that the past was past, <em> n’est pas</em>? But alas, it seems I was sadly mistaken. Truly, I should have expected it. As long as my ‘cousins’ remain at large, as you say, there is always the danger.”</p><p>“Jeeves is no danger to you!” I protested. “You don’t have to fight for your lives anymore!”</p><p>“You clearly know much, M. Wooster,” Mr. Poirot said to me. “However, it is not revenge that I seek against M. Jeeves, though I assure you we have all done worse than falsely hang a man for murder. But I myself have no reason for revenge against him; M. Jeeves and I were on what passed for amiable terms in that place. As for my leg, it was injured on account of your own war. But that is all in the past. I am concerned only with the future. I assure you, M. Wooster, M. Jeeves is a dangerous man who will do anything to get whatever it is that he wants. And I am afraid that you have put yourself in such a position that you are the only obstacle impeding him.”</p><p>“What are you saying?” I demanded. “If it’s money Jeeves wanted, he could have gotten it more easily in a thousand other ways with brains like his. And who are you to say Jeeves is a danger when you admit that you’re the same as he is, but you’re not trying to murder anyone - except for Jeeves for the crime of having once brawled with you out on the moors!”</p><p>Mr. Poirot sighed. “It is not so simple as that. We were raised to be dangerous, to manipulate and yes, even kill, to get whatever it is we wanted. I have done everything I can to counter my upbringing, and still, sometimes I see it in myself. But Jeeves, again he has sought a position at the right hand of power, putting everyone in his debt, again he manipulates and schemes. These patterns, they are not so easily broken.”</p><p>“I would hardly say I’m in a position of power.”</p><p>“Yourself, perhaps no, but do not underestimate your wealth or your friends in high places. You are aware that M. Jeeves has on multiple occasions intervened to dissuade a woman from marrying you?”</p><p>The abrupt change in the subject of our conversation just about stopped me in my tracks. “Rather,”  I said at last, “and a good thing too. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything, Jeeves was only doing the feudal thing and helping the y. m. out of the soup. Jeeves is certainly stubborn and perhaps a tad underhanded in his methods at times, but he always rallies around in the hour of need. I don’t know what I’d do without the chap.”</p><p>“And for his services, he will be most handsomely rewarded. Do you not wonder who would want to frame you for the murder of Lord Sidcup?”</p><p>I was getting quite tired of these dashed insinuations about Jeeves. “I say the chap has more than earned it! It’s the least I can do for him after everything he’s done for me. If you’ve come here on my account, then I tell you your services aren’t wanted.”</p><p>With that, I turned and haughtily stalked away.</p><p> </p><p>My legs conveyed me of their own accord back to the sitting room, to the chair by the fire. I poured myself a well deserved glass from the decanter on the sideboard and took a few moody sips before just gulping the whole thing down and pouring another. I briefly considered calling Jeeves for one of his bracing concoctions, but I wasn’t ready to have another dispute just yet.</p><p>“Dash it all!” I proclaimed to the room at large.</p><p>It was only then that I noticed that Mr. Satterthwaite had not moved from where he’d been sitting before, again watching me with some curiosity in that quiet way of his.</p><p>“Thank you for the tip on Mr. Poirot,  but I’m afraid I couldn’t get through to the chap,”  I told him. “He’s just as stubborn as Jeeves is; he’s got it stuck in his head that Jeeves must be after my money or some such rot. But you know Jeeves, you must know that’s absurd, what?”</p><p>Mr. Satterthwaite took his time in speaking. “There are few things I would be surprised to find Mr. Jeeves or any of his cousins doing. But no, it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“Dashed unlikely, I say! But Poirot seems set on getting Jeeves hung for murder all because he’s stuck on this bally notion that Jeeves is framing me! And I don’t know if even Jeeves could talk sense into him - if he could see that Poirot isn’t a murderous madman like Erik.”</p><p>I took another gulp of the needful and leaned back in my chair.</p><p>“It seems it’s all fallen to Bertram W. to flock round, but dashed if I know what I can do  to help the chap.”</p><p>“Mr. Poirot believes that Mr. Jeeves murdered Lord Sidcup?” Mr. Satterthwaite asked rather deliberately.</p><p>I hesitated a bit. “He thinks Jeeves is trying to frame me, but surely Jeeves can’t have actually done it. I mean, there wasn’t anyone else up there when it happened.” I gave my glass a pensive swish and was considering the amber liquid when it occurred to me like a flash. “I say! If we could discover who it was- or rather what it was that happened to Spode, then Mr. Poirot would have to admit that Jeeves didn’t have anything to do with it! And it would clear my name too, for that matter. What do you say?”</p><p>To my surprise Mr. Satterthwaite nodded along. “I believe that would do nicely. And I have noticed several peculiar things since my arrival here some days ago.”</p><p>“Right-o! Let’s have it from the top then; any detail no matter how inconsequential may be of significance, after all” - if all the mysteries I had read were anything to go by at least.</p><p>“Well, let’s see…” Mr. Satterthwaite said and paused to give it some consideration.</p><p>However, he didn’t have the chance to continue, as, while he was considering and I was trying to do some thinking of my own, Hastings returned. I gave the chap a bit of a wary look; it was myself against Mr. Poirot on the case and I concluded it was more likely he would take his chum’s side than mine.</p><p>However, Hastings, the amiable chap that he is, took a conciliatory approach, “I say, I’m sorry old boy, I see I’ve misjudged you. The way all the evidence was stacked, it seemed a foregone conclusion, but clearly you’ve got other things on your mind.”</p><p>“It’s all water under the bridge, what? I probably would have suspected myself under the circs.,” I answered graciously, but the most important question remained. “But what about Jeeves?”</p><p>Hastings sighed, taking a glass of his own from the decanter. “Poirot tried to explain it to me, but I still don’t understand what’s going on with him and your man, Jeeves. It’s all absurd isn’t it?”</p><p>I confess, I felt some disappointment that all Hastings had to do was ask and Mr. Poirot was ready to explain all, but I supposed it was an awful lot to take in at once, and I assented with more sympathy than bitterness, “It’s the rummiest thing I’ve ever heard, but they have the scars to prove it, what?”</p><p>“Do they? That’s awful, but even now I can’t fathom it, being raised like that.”</p><p>“They really were raised then - by someone? I always thought they were wild children running out on the moors, going at each other with knives and what not.”</p><p>“That’s what Poirot said.” But Hastings didn’t sound so certain about it.</p><p>“It was a momentous undertaking,” Mr. Satterthwaite said bitterly - the chap had been so quiet, I had nearly forgotten he was there at all.</p><p>“I say!” was all I could say to that.</p><p>Hastings only nodded. “But as Poirot said, that’s all over and done with, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” He glanced over at Mr. Satterthwaite for confirmation.</p><p>“Yes, thank God,” Mr. Satterthwaite said. There was a sort of distant look in his eyes.</p><p>“Did you manage to convince Poirot, then?” I asked eagerly.</p><p>“No,” Hastings said, “he’s still convinced your man, Jeeves, is behind it, but he gets these little ideas of his. They’re usually right, mind you, but I say he’s going about it all backwards.”</p><p>“You’ll help us then, solve the case and clear Jeeves’s name, what?”</p><p>“I’ve always wanted to beat Poirot at his own game!”</p><p>And as it seemed to be the thing to do, we shook on it.</p><p>Hastings settled into a chair opposite mine by the fire. “Pardon my saying so, but if you didn’t do it, it’s hard to imagine how anyone else could’ve, unless they snuck up behind Lord Sidcup with that bust. You’re sure you didn’t see anyone else up on the landing?”</p><p>“No, not a soul.”</p><p>“And you were there right when the crash happened?”</p><p>“Directly above, no less!”</p><p>“Well, I can say that whoever framed you knew what they were doing. I can’t imagine it was a coincidence.”</p><p>“Assuming you were framed,” Mr. Satterthwaite put in sort of cautiously, “are you quite certain Lord Sidcup wasn’t dead before you reached the landing?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” I asked. “We all heard the crash, what?”</p><p>“I was still in the parlour when it happened,” Mr. Satterthwaite explained. “I heard the crash, of course, but some minutes before - I’m afraid I didn’t think to look at the clock - I heard a comparatively quiet thud. At the time I assumed it was Mr. Pinker again, but after what happened, it appears in a different light.”</p><p>“You mean to say you think that’s when it really happened?”</p><p>“And that would mean the crash we all heard was just a set up,” Hastings exclaimed, and he rather sounded like he was on to something.</p><p>“I say!” I said. “But wait, then wouldn’t there have to be something else that was destroyed? If the bust fell on Spode - or rather Sidcup - when you heard that thud, then what was that terrible crash that happened when I was up there?”</p><p>That gave Hastings a bit of pause. “They must have destroyed something else and gotten rid of the pieces somehow.”</p><p>There was only one thing to be done. I rang for Seppings.</p><p>“Sir?” He promptly appeared - though, unlike Jeeves, he did not simply materialize, rather I saw him enter through the door.</p><p>“On the night of the incident, was there anything broken other than that bust and the vase that Stinker bumped into?” I asked.</p><p>Seppings seemed to think it over. “Possibly, sir. The following morning the maid discovered an ornamental plate missing, however I could not say for certain whether it has been broken.”</p><p>“The maid didn’t find any fragments of it when she was sweeping, or even an odd spot of dust on the floor?” Hastings asked.</p><p>“I can ask her, if you would like, sir,” Seppings said.</p><p>I nodded. “Thank you, Seppings.”</p><p>“Will that be all, sir?”</p><p>I considered asking after Jeeves, but there was no reason to trouble the chap. “Yes, that’s it for now. ”</p><p>With a little bow, Seppings retreated from the room.</p><p>“I say, that just about settles it, what?” I proclaimed. “Someone must have taken the plate and shattered it the moment I was on the landing just above Spode.”</p><p>“It would be nice to have some more solid evidence, but it’s highly suggestive, at least,” Hastings said.</p><p>I was not to be discouraged. “Now all we need to do is figure out where everyone was at the time the incident actually took place and then we’ll have our man!”</p><p>“The thud wasn’t long before the crash?” Hastings asked Mr. Satterthwaite, who nodded. “In that case, Poirot and I have already asked around about that. Mr. Satterthwaite, you were in the parlour. Wooster, you said you were in your room?”</p><p>“I went directly up after dinner.”</p><p>“Your man, Jeeves, was talking to Mrs. Travers about getting her another maid, which means he certainly couldn’t have done it if it really was that thud.”</p><p>“That’s what Aunt Dahlia wanted Jeeves about? She told me it was because she wanted the goods on someone - but I refused to hear any more of it. Now I wish I knew what it was all about.”</p><p>“You mean she wanted information, like for blackmail?” Hastings seemed rather aghast about the whole thing.</p><p>“I say, I expect it’s nothing serious,” I said, regretting having mentioned it at all.</p><p>“Blackmail’s a serious matter,” he said, again sounding much too much like Stilton Cheesewright for my comfort. Thankfully, he soon wavered. “Though I guess it’s usually the blackmailer who gets murdered; murdering the person you’re blackmailing would defeat the point.”</p><p>“Rather!” I eagerly assented.</p><p>He resumed, “As for the rest: Lady Sidcup was in her room with a headache. Mr. Glossop was outside cooling down after his argument with Lord Sidcup. Mrs. Glossop and Mrs. Fink-Nottle were talking in Mrs. Glossop’s room. Mr. Fink-Nottle was in his room. And Mr. and Mrs. Pinker were in the sitting room, looking for Mrs. Pinker’s shawl. None of them are watertight alibis. Everyone knows you can’t trust a woman testifying in defense of her husband - or the other way around, I suppose. Mrs. Glossop and Mrs. Fink-Nottle can vouch for each other though, unless they’re both lying.”</p><p>Anyone of my acquaintance can tell you I’m not exactly the cleverest chap, but on that particular occasion, I felt abysmally slow to the punch, even for Bertie Wooster, as it dawned on me. “Wait just a minute, what’s all this about alibis? You don’t actually expect that someone murdered Spode, what? Surely it could only have been an accident.”</p><p>“An accident?” Hastings asked, as though he hadn’t even considered the possibility. “I suppose it could be, but surely… Someone went through all the trouble of framing you, didn’t they? Why would anyone do that if they weren’t afraid of being caught for murder?”</p><p>“Your pal Poirot is convinced Jeeves’s whole plan is to frame me for it whether he did Spode in or not,” I replied darkly, not at all liking the way this was going.</p><p>“Anyway,” Hastings continued, “we know that someone has a motive, because the constable found a note in Lord Sidcup’s room asking him to meet them - it sounded like he knew something about someone that whoever it was didn’t want to get out. Poirot didn’t think it was anything, but you know he’s been preoccupied.”</p><p>“I’ve known everyone here for longer than I haven’t known them, and for all their faults, none would murder a chap in cold blood! It must have been an accident - you’ll see! As for framing me, well anyone could have any number of reasons for that, but maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”</p><p>Hastings looked far from convinced, but there was something else that caught his attention. “Why would anyone want to frame you - aside from Jeeves to get your money, that is?”</p><p>“Well, you know, I always do anything to help a pal in need, though it would have been easier if whoever it was had just asked. And everyone knows I have Jeeves who can fish anyone out of any manner of soup, no matter how thick.”</p><p>“You would help someone cover up a murder?” Hastings asked, a bit aghast. “That would make you an accessory to the crime.”</p><p>I floundered. “Well, but none of them would actually murder a chap, what?”</p><p>To my surprise, Mr. Satterthwaite took that as his cue to speak up at last; “I have gotten the impression that though some may have some small squabbles with you, no one liked Lord Sidcup” - he raised a hand to preempt the interruption that was already waiting on the tip of my tongue, my mouth half open to speak - “But, I do agree that no one here seems like they would go so far as murder - except for Mr. Jeeves, of course, who has no motive and Mr. Poirot who has neither motive nor opportunity. I can’t help but wonder if this is one of those instances where an idea passes through one’s mind and one’s body acts it out of their own accord, almost like an accident, but for that instant of thought.”</p><p>“But they certainly didn’t frame Wooster on accident,” Hastings insisted.</p><p>“The note could have been delivered to the wrong door,” I suggested, “why else would I receive a love letter? As for the crash, perhaps Stinker bumped into something again.”</p><p>“That would be some coincidence,” Hastings said. “And you’re certain you didn’t have any idea who you were going to meet?”</p><p>I hesitated, but replied firmly in the negative. “Hardly! As for the rest, we’ll just have to question everyone and find out what really happened,” I said as confidently as I could, but I couldn’t help feeling some doubt prickling at the back of my mind.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the end of the evening, I was sitting up in bed, Jeeves hovering at the bedside as is frequently his wont, but rather more statue-like on this particular e. We had spent the whole evening, ever since I’d made my excuses and retreated from the parlour to prepare for bed, in a rather stiff and stony silence, Jeeves to all appearances cold and indifferent - though I knew it could hardly be further from the truth - and myself making like the cat in the adage, letting I dare not wait upon I would.</p><p>But I could avoid the matter no longer. If I argued with the chap, so be it.</p><p>“I say Jeeves, you know I spoke with your cousin this afternoon.”</p><p>“Indeed, sir?” Unyielding, I’d call it.</p><p>“Poirot,” I clarified, though there were no others present to my knowledge. “Mr. Satterthwaite told me.”</p><p>Jeeves was, to all appearances, unmoved. “Sir, as you are aware Mr. Poirot is one of my cousins, you therefore must understand why I advise you not to speak with him.”</p><p>“Enough of this rot, Jeeves!” I exclaimed, a little more sharply than I intended. “Mr. Poirot is a perfectly decent chap, it’s only that he’s as bad as you are, convinced you’re going to murder me for the Wooster fortune. I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. He thinks you’re the one who sent that bally note to frame me for the crime, and is trying to build up a case against you. All you have to do is have a word with the chap, make him see that it’s all complete and utter rot.”</p><p>“Sir, I would not be fooled by Mr. Poirot’s benign appearance. He is as dangerous as E-Q, if not more so.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I know, that’s how you were all raised!” I don’t know if I’ve ever hated a chap as much as at that moment I hated the fellows who raised Jeeves and his cousins, whoever they were, for making Jeeves so frightened for his life that the braneist of coves could hardly think straight.</p><p>“Sir?” Jeeves’s voice had suddenly lowered, and the mask with it, though it was hardly gone.</p><p>“I’m all right, Jeeves,” I said, unclenching my fists and brushing a few wayward droplets from the e. “It’s you I’m worried about. You never got like this about Raffles or Bunny, but with Poirot, it’s like Erik all over again, but this time he hasn’t even kidnapped us. He just wants to help, misguided as the chap is.”</p><p>“There is no need to trouble yourself, sir. I will ensure that Mr. Poirot will have no opportunity to endanger you.”</p><p>“Jeeves! That’s not the point!” The chap could be dashed infuriating at times. “You’re not fighting for your life any more, you don’t have to! Mr. Poirot is just a rummy old Belgian detective, just ask Hastings. Surely if you could change, he could too.”</p><p>“Mr. Poirot is not so attached to Mr. Hastings as he may appear, sir.”</p><p>“So maybe it’s not quite like you and I, but they’re still chums, what?”</p><p>“I would not say so, sir.”</p><p>I sighed and waved Jeeves over to the bed.</p><p>To my surprise, he obliged, sitting on the edge of the b. beside me. I didn’t expect the chap had much he intended to accomplish that evening - if I wasn’t mistaken it was his every intention to spend the night standing guard as he had done in the nights after we had escaped from Erik. He even sat like a statue, waiting to come to life at the slightest sign of danger.</p><p>I took Jeeves’s hand in mine, idly turning it this way and that with no real plan about the thing, just some idea that there might be something at least a little soothing in the motion.</p><p>With his free hand, Jeeves gently brushed a stray hair from my forehead - though it wasn’t quite at the point of getting in my eyes.</p><p>“Jeeves,” I said, “I’ll be all right.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” he said, but in that evasive way of his.</p><p>“Is there anything I can do to convince you that there really isn’t any danger?”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>I sighed. I didn’t like it, but I very well knew I didn’t have a chance of getting anywhere with the chap when he was in such a state. Instead I tried for somewhat lower hanging fruit, so to speak.</p><p>You need rest too, don’t you?” I asked.</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>“Jeeves,” I said warningly - he very well knew that wasn’t an acceptable answer.</p><p>“Sir?” The eyebrow lifted just a fraction.</p><p>“If you’re going to stay here all night, you may as well be comfortable.” I expected that Jeeves would very well understand the implication.</p><p>“I would not dare, sir.”</p><p>I was disappointed, but not surprised, and the stuffed frog seemed to have lifted at least a touch. “Right-o, Jeeves, but you shouldn’t spend the whole night standing around.”</p><p>“Very good, sir.”</p><p>I didn’t like the sound of it, but I didn’t know what else I could do. I was left to content myself with the thought that maybe I would think up some brainy scheme to convince Jeeves that Mr. Poirot was all right while Hastings and I questioned everyone tomorrow. In the meantime, I lay down and curled myself around Jeeves where he sat as tightly as I could manage, my arms flung around his waist for good measure, to keep the chap from spending the night pacing about the room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jeeves and Wooster tangled with Erik in <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307516">Jeeves Meets the Phantom of the Opera</a> and Wooster glimpsed Jeeves's scars in <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798197">Jeeves Gets Sick</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I couldn’t say if it was my worries about Jeeves, or the investigation, or just the accumulated strain of it all, but the dreamless that night hardly deserved the name, and I again awoke in the morning rather earlier than is my usual fashion. Jeeves, of course, had long since extracted himself from my grasp and was waiting at the ready with a piping hot cup of tea. Once my eyes had been adequately rubbed and the cobwebs sufficiently dusted from the Wooster bean, I gave the chap a good searching look, examining for any signs of exhaustion or disarray, but for all I could tell, the chap may as well have spent a restful night in the servants’ wing, woken up betimes in his usual fashion, to appear before me, immaculate as ever, with the morning oolong.</p><p>It was only the stiffness of his manner that suggested anything could have possibly been amiss, and it was hardly anything so different from the usual; I found myself glancing down at the raiment as I dressed to be certain I hadn’t forgotten I’d brought some article of which the chap disapproved - an unlikely circ. given that he had done all of said packing.</p><p>I was just about to take my leave of the chap when Jeeves said softly, “Be careful, sir.”</p><p>I gave the man another long look. There was a rummy thingummyness in his gaze, still stern and impassive as ever, of course, but well, it didn’t take him saying so for me to see that he was worried.</p><p>“Why don’t you take the day off, Jeeves,” I said, giving him a bit of a clap on the shoulder for good measure, “take it easy, what? You can leave it to me to solve the case and get Mr. Poirot off your back.”</p><p>“That is very kind, sir,” he said, but any manner of real assurance that he would take me up on the offer was conspicuous in its absence.</p><p>As you can therefore very well imagine, my concerns had hardly abated as I descended the stairs to reconvene with Hastings and Mr. Satterthwaite. They were already up in the sitting room.</p><p>“Just going over the evidence,” Hastings explained as I entered, his notebook where he had drawn it all up in hand.</p><p>“I say!” I was still blinking the sleep from my eyes with half a mind to return to bed and finish off the night’s sleep properly, but my serious purpose kept me alert. “Have you uncovered any new clues?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Hastings admitted. “But we still have to give the people of the house a proper questioning.”</p><p>“Rather!”</p><p>Hastings took another drag and tossed away his cigarette, and then the trio of us emerged and set out into the corridor, Hastings and I at the fore and Mr. Satterthwaite padding quite silently behind - not so unlike Jeeves. We weren’t exactly an official investigation, so it hardly seemed right to ask Seppings to bring people to us for interviewing - Aunt Dahlia certainly wouldn’t have stood for being asked to her own drawing room. Instead, we roamed the house in search of people to interview.</p><p>Our first lead was a promising one; the sound of feminine voices coming from the parlour.</p><p>Angela, Madeline, and Emerald all fell silent at our entrance. There was an awkward moment of staring; a rather unpleasant reminder that it wasn’t only Jeeves’s name I needed to clear.</p><p>I gave a bit of an awkward cough.</p><p>“Oh, Bertie!” Madeline exclaimed - it seemed to be a particular favorite phrase of hers under the circs. She buried her head in her hands.</p><p>Angela glared at me as though it was all my doing, and then stuck up her chin and turned to Hastings, all business, but with an intimidating undercurrent that made my head swim a bit and for a moment I saw Aunt Dahlia in her place. “Mr. Hastings, what is it?” </p><p>“Just a few more questions,” he replied, not exactly suavely, but certainly unintimidated, for which I couldn’t help but admire the chap.</p><p>“You’re not arresting Bertie, then?” By her tone, I couldn’t tell whether she would have preferred a yes or no.</p><p>“Oh, no, we know Wooster couldn’t have done it,” Hastings said, and I appreciated the bid of confidence, especially as, at the declaration, a good portion of the tension dissipated from the room. “We just want to know a bit more about what happened.”</p><p>Angela gave an imperious nod and the three of us were permitted to sit down and join them.</p><p>Before we could start with the questioning however, Madeline took her appeal straight to Bertram W. “Oh, Bertie,” she said again, dabbing her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “You’ve always been such a kind, selfless gentleman, I knew you could never do such a horrible thing even though it must have pained you so to see me with Roderick.”</p><p>“Er, well,” was as far as I got with replying to her.</p><p>“Even now, you’re too much of a gentleman to so much as speak to me. Life can be so cruel, to bring us together again like this.” Madeline glanced away and when she looked up again her eyes were a bit drier.</p><p>It was a rummy thing. She was, of course, the very same Madeline Bassett, with her wide doey eyes and more sap than a chap could very well bear. But for the first time, I noticed something different about her, a sort of seriousness, a bit different from her usual to do. Not that it made it any easier for me to think up anything to say to her.</p><p>“I thought about you,” she said at last, “and poor dear Augustus too, sometimes. Roderick” - she hesitated - “he was so very devoted to me, but I wonder if you can’t have even a little too much of a good thing; life is cruel like that. But you’re a good soul, Bertie. It’s too soon now, but maybe one day, I can do what I ought have done long ago and make you happy.”</p><p>“You really don’t have to,” I stammered out hastily. “I get along all right.”</p><p>“You’re so dear, Bertie,” she said, sniffling into her handkerchief once more.</p><p>I looked to Angela, but found no sympathy in that quarter. It seemed I was out of the bisque and into the mulligatawny as it were. If only Jeeves was back to his brainy self he would have it wrapped up in a jiffy, but as I had only myself, I could but manage one scheme at a time.</p><p>“I, er, you don’t mind if we ask you a few questions?” Hastings put in, when it seemed the waterworks had died down for the time being. When none of the ladies protested, he continued, “Before you heard that big crash, Mrs. Glossop, you said you were in your room with Mrs. Fink-Nottle?”</p><p>Both Angela and Em agreed.</p><p>“And Lady Sidcup, you were in your room?”</p><p>“Yes. Oh, it was most dreadful,” Madeline said.</p><p>“And you all went straight there from the parlour? You didn’t leave and come back or go anywhere else first?”</p><p>They all replied in the negative, and Angela added, her patience running thin, “What are you getting at?”</p><p>Still, Hastings didn’t falter. “Did any of you happen to hear another crash, more like a thud, before the big crash?”</p><p>Again, we received no dice.</p><p>“And you didn’t see or hear anyone out in the hall?” I asked.</p><p>“Maybe, I may have heard footsteps, but I’m not sure,” Em said.</p><p>Angela corroborated, “Yes, I think I heard someone walking around while we were talking, maybe a few people, but I couldn’t say who.”</p><p>“There was so much commotion, it was hard to get any rest,” Madline said.</p><p>“What did you hear?” Hastings asked urgently.</p><p>“Let’s see…” Madeline gazed off into the distance, her head tilted to the side, looking as though her mind was occupied with thoughts of bunny rabbits and daisy chains, but to my astonishment, she eventually replied, “Well, it was quiet for a little while, and then there was that first loud crash, there had been a few people about before that, but then there were people everywhere, walking back and forth past the door. After that, Roderick came back for just a little while, before leaving again. I didn’t know where he was going at the time, but it must have been right before-” she broke off into silence.</p><p>“What about after that?” Hastings prompted.</p><p>She said nothing for a long moment, but just as I had begun to think she’d never speak, she continued, “I think I heard a few more people walking by; I couldn’t say how many, but it was quieter by then, just one at a time, I think. And then there was that second terrible crash, of course, and the dreadful scream.” She shuddered and Angela flocked round.</p><p>Hastings nodded along as she spoke, scribbling in the little notebook he carried around. When at last he had dotted all the t’s crossed every i, he asked, “Could we have a sentence from each of you? A short one will do, say ‘the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog’.”</p><p>“You want a handwriting sample?” Em confirmed.</p><p>“Well, yes,” Hastings said, a little reluctantly.</p><p>While he tore a page out of his notebook and passed it around, I took the opportunity to interject; “By any chance, has any of you happened to, I don’t know, slip a note or some such under someone’s door, the wrong door perhaps, inviting a chap to meet out under the stars?”</p><p>Angela and Em exchanged a rather dubious glance and again they all answered firmly in the negative.</p><p>Then Hastings took another turn, asking, “Mrs. Glossop, Mrs. Fink-Nottle, how well did you know the deceased?”</p><p>“I saw him once or twice a year, but we didn’t get along famously,” Angela said. It was a bit of an understatement from what I’d gathered.</p><p>“I may have met him once before this, but I hardly knew him,” Em said.</p><p>“He didn’t happen to know anything about you that no one else does?” Hastings attempted, not quite delicately, but I was glad he was the one asking it rather than me.</p><p>“I’d hope not,” Angela said with a scoff.</p><p>Em shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”</p><p>Madeline finished writing out “the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog,” and handed the paper back to Hastings, and then we - mostly Hastings and I, but also Mr. Satterthwaite a bit - glanced between ourselves, silently attempting to discern whether anyone else had any further questions. I had a distinct feeling we hadn’t gotten nearly as many shocking revelations as would have been ideal at this stage in the proceedings, but I was at a loss of what we could say or do to move things along as it were, and the other chaps seemed to be of similar minds.</p><p>We were still discretely puzzling it over when Em spoke up, “Bertie, I don’t suppose I could have a word?”</p><p>“I say! Certainly, old thing!” I jumped up and she led me just out into the hall.</p><p>When we got there, however, Em seemed to have forgotten what she was going to say - or rather how she meant to say it. We stood in silence for a bit, hardly the usual way of things when she and I get together.</p><p>“I say,” I remarked, just for something or other to say, but it hardly helped move the conversation along.</p><p>“It may be nothing,” she said at last. “It’s such a silly thing, especially after, well… I should just be grateful I’m not in Madeline’s place. And I could just be making something out of nothing, but…”</p><p>“But what is it?” I asked at last.</p><p>She looked me firmly in the eye, with an almost aunt-like air about her. “You won’t tell anyone?”</p><p>“Not a soul,” I proclaimed, my hand over my heart.</p><p>“You really are dear, Bertie.”</p><p>“It’s simply the <em> preux </em> thing to do, and you know I endeavor to be a <em> preux chevalier</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, a gentleman.” She gave me a smile one might call wan, if that’s the word I mean. “It’s about Augustus. I know you’ve been friends since private school, you know him as well as anyone. You’ll probably just say it’s not like him, and maybe you’re right. It’s just, well, sometimes… Like there was one time while we were at the seashore, he became good friends with a woman who was staying there, rarely one without the other. At first, she and I thought it was a great joke, but well, it was just little things, and maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but…” she trailed off, unwilling to go any further.</p><p>“Em, you don’t mean to say that Gussie-?” I exclaimed, unwilling to put it into words myself.</p><p>She crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “It’s ridiculous isn’t it.”</p><p>“Of course!” At least, that’s what I wanted to say, but Gussie had been engaged to Madeline right up until he and Em eloped.</p><p>“It’s just with her around and now she’s not - oh it’s a horrible thing to say, but I can only wonder. It’s madness, Bertie, really madness. Maybe you were right not to get married, or what if we’d gotten married?” She made a bit of an attempt at a laugh, though it didn’t really stick.</p><p>“You can’t really mean that,” I protested.</p><p>“You really have been in love with her all these years?”</p><p>“Hardly!”</p><p>Em gave me a bit of a searching l. And then, rather abruptly, she changed the subject; “Do you really think it was murder?”</p><p>“Of course not! Surely, you don’t actually think anyone here could have done a thing like that!”</p><p>“Oh, I suppose you’re right. It all hardly feels real. But someone must have…” she trailed off yet again.</p><p>“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” I said with a certainty I didn’t entirely feel. “And when we do, you’ll see that it was all some accident.”</p><p>“I best let you get to it then. Thank you, Bertie.” She craned her neck to kiss me on the cheek - in a purely sisterly manner, I assure you - and hastily returned to the sitting room to rejoin the others.</p><p>I was going to follow after in search of Hastings and Mr. Satterthwaite, but it seemed they took Em’s return as their cue to get up and leave the parlour and instead joined me in the hall.</p><p>“I say, what was all that about?” Hastings asked as we all reconvened.</p><p>“Oh, you know, this and that,” I answered with a bit of an awkward smile.</p><p>“She seemed troubled,” Mr. Satterthwaite remarked, but he didn’t elaborate.</p><p>Hastings shrugged it off and we resumed our search for other members of the household to interview.</p><p>“I say, you’re a lucky man,” Hastings remarked - it took me a moment to realize it was me he was talking to.</p><p>“How do you mean?” I asked.</p><p>“Lady Sidcup is a little old for me, but I can’t deny she’s a lovely woman, and she must have been beautiful when you met her. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be too shy to propose.”</p><p>“Now see here!” I exclaimed, but before I had a chance to set the chap straight, we came across Aunt Dahlia talking to Jeeves.</p><p>The aged aunt broke off whatever she was saying at the sight of us, and as soon as her attention had left him, Jeeves vanished without so much as a view-halloa, as I believe is the literary expression.</p><p>“Bertie” Aunt Dahlia exclaimed, her voice loud enough to carry across the fields, “there you are! I’ve been meaning to have a word with you!”</p><p>“Actually, we were wondering if we could have a word with you,” I suggested a bit cautiously.</p><p>“You were?” Aunt Dahlia seemed rather dubious about the whole thing. “All three of you? What about?”</p><p>“You see, we’re doing something of an investigation.”</p><p>“An investigation? Bertie” - she glanced between myself and Hastings - “I can’t see what there is to investigate.”</p><p>Hastings cut in, “I know it seems cut and dry, but both Poirot and I have reason to believe that Mr. Wooster was framed.”</p><p>“But Bertie, surely it was all just an accident.” The deserving aunt gave me a look that would have cowed a lesser man in an instant.</p><p>I surely shook, but I could not deny what I’d already told Hastings and Mr. Satterthwaite and the aged relation herself. “I’m afraid not, Aunt D.,” I said.</p><p>She glared at me, but a glance at Hastings was enough to hold her back. “Alright, what were your questions? You might as well come into the study.”</p><p>We followed Aunt Dahlia to the study, though I doubted it would make much of a difference; her voice carried through the house just as well as the woods.</p><p>“On the night of the incident, you were in here talking to Jeeves when you heard the crash?” Hastings asked once we were all seated around Aunt Dahlia’s desk.</p><p>“Yes,” she said rather shortly.</p><p>“You came directly here from the parlour and didn’t leave until you heard the crash?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And you didn’t hear anything else? Like a thud? Or anyone moving around out in the hall?”</p><p>“No, I don’t think so.”</p><p>“I say,” I put in when he seemed to be done with that line of questioning, “what were you talking to Jeeves about? The way you put it to me, it didn’t sound like you were just looking for a new maid.”</p><p>“Wooster said you were looking for information on someone,” Hastings prompted.</p><p>“Bertie!” Aunt Dahlia looked rather like she wanted to give me a slap upside the head, before rounding on Hastings with a more civilized grimace. “My nephew, as anyone could tell you, isn’t the brightest bulb, though how he came to that conclusion, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t want to say anything about it because you know how collectors are, everything’s like a trade secret. My husband, Tom, collects silver, and I wanted to purchase another piece for his collection from his rival Sir Watkyn Bassett” - she shot me a glare - “that’s what I wanted information on. Jeeves’s cousin is a jeweler, and he has some knowledge of silver.”</p><p>“I see,” Hastings said, and thankfully he didn’t press. Instead, he asked, “How well did you know Lord Sidcup?”</p><p>Aunt Dahlia shrugged, a bit calmer now that she’d said her bit, though I knew well enough to keep my peace. “I just know him as the husband of my daughter’s friend, Madeline, and he only comes around when she does. Sometimes I see him if Tom and I go to see Sir Watkyn Bassett about his silver - Sir Watykn is married to Lord Sidcup’s aunt - but we’ve never had much to talk about.”</p><p>“He wouldn’t happen to know anything about you that no one else does?”</p><p>“Goodness no!” Aunt Dahlia exclaimed. “Now, will that be all?</p><p>“Just if you could write a sentence for me” - Hastings passed her a sheet of paper and instructed her to write down “the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog” just like the others.</p><p>And then, we took our somewhat hasty exit from the study before Aunt Dahlia decided she wasn’t quite done with me yet.</p><p>We all decisively agreed that the next point of order was lunch.</p><p>On our way back down, once we were undoubtedly out of the aunt’s earshot, Hastings remarked, his voice hushed for good measure, “Do you believe all that about the silver?”</p><p>The fact of the matter was that I didn’t quite. My Aunt Dahlia is many things, but she is not a gentleman, as I have remarked before, and I have found that she is rather lacking in the ordinary scruples. Furthermore, I have heard enough of Sir Watkyn Bassett and his silver to know that he would have to be in dire straights indeed to even consider selling a piece of his extensive silver collection to my Uncle Tom, or the price would have to be no less than Anatole - the man had once considered going after Jeeves as well, but Jeeves himself rather succinctly put an end to that. And given that Jeeves was off the market, so to speak, it seemed unlikely that the aged relative would turn to his fish-fed brains for something so simple as the pricing of silver. No, if it was Sir Watkyn Bassett’s silver Aunt Dahlia was after, I expected she aimed to acquire it by none too legal means, and that was where Jeeves came in.</p><p>However, I had very well learned my lesson about letting such things slip in the presence of Hastings - an otherwise perfectly amiable chap, but on the matter of law, he had a bit too much of Cheesewright about him. Therefore, I replied as nonchalantly as you please, “I say, why shouldn’t I?”</p><p>“It is curious,” Mr. Satterthwaite said, “a bit of a coincidence, I would say, that Mrs. Travers happens to want that silver now.”</p><p>“Oh, Aunt Dahlia is always looking to steal some silver out from under the nose of Sir Watkyn Bassett - he and Uncle Tom are bitter rivals over the stuff, though I can’t understand it,” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster.</p><p>Mr. Satterthwaite only seemed to think it over.</p><p>For one of the few times in my life, I - along with Hastings and Mr. Satterthwaite - arrived in the dining room on the early side for lunch. No one else was there yet, but the sideboard was quickly laid with all the usual goods and I found that at the sight of the spread my appetite had made a rather remarkable return.</p><p>As we filled our plates, Hastings said, “I don’t see how it makes much of a difference anyway, that Mrs. Travers wanted the silver. She can’t have done it because she was talking to Jeeves at the time.”</p><p>“Exactly!” I said. “And Angela and Em were talking to each other, so that counts both of them out.”</p><p>“And I couldn’t imagine Lady Sidcup having done it.”</p><p>“Rather!” I agreed emphatically, joining Hastings at the table with a full plate. “That’s four in the clear. Though I can’t see how we’re any closer to figuring out what it was that actually happened or who slipped that note under my door.”</p><p>After a moment of thought Hastings said, “What about Mr. Glossop?”</p><p>“Tuppy?” I asked, hardly credulous of what I was hearing.</p><p>“Why not? He had an argument with Lord Sidcup right before he was murdered and he doesn’t seem to be too fond of you.”</p><p>I couldn’t deny the latter, but that didn’t stop me from protesting, “But he would hardly!”</p><p>“Who do you think did it then?” Hastings asked.</p><p>“Did it? No one!”</p><p>“Oh right, you still think it was an accident?”</p><p>“Of course! What else could it be?”</p><p>“I wonder,” Mr. Satterthwaite put in. “Augustus Fink-Nottle is it? He was once engaged to Lady Sidcup.”</p><p>“You mean to suggest that Gussie would-” I exclaimed.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s nothing,” Mr. Satterthwaite said.</p><p>“Mr. Fink-Nottle? He hardly seems to be capable of murder,” Hastings said.</p><p>I was going to express my emphatic agreement when Gussie himself made an appearance.</p><p>I jumped a bit and called out perhaps a bit too emphatically, “What ho, Gussie!”</p><p>“Oh, hullo Bertie,” Gussie said, none too cheerily, though the sight of the spread on the sideboard seemed to brace the chap considerably.</p><p>“Something troubling you, old chum?” I asked.</p><p>“Nothing much,” he said, “aside for the dreary atmosphere.”</p><p>“Rather!” I agreed.</p><p>“Say, Mr. Fink-Nottle,” Hastings asked as Gussie joined us at the table, “you were engaged to Lady Sidcup once, weren’t you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Gussie said, rather darkly, I thought.</p><p>“Do you see much of her these days?” Hastings attempted.</p><p>“Thank goodness, no. Being engaged to her once was more than enough, thank you. But could Lord Spodecup get it through his thick head, no. Not to speak ill of the dead,” Gussie hastily amended.</p><p>“What’s this about Lord Sidcup?” Hastings asked, lucky enough to not be familiar with the man Spode had been in life.</p><p>“He chased me all around the house, threatening to break my spine because he thought I was trying to steal her away! Me! After all she put me through.”</p><p>“What did she do?” Hastings asked, the poor perplexed fellow, who knew nothing of Madeline aside from her looks.</p><p>“All manner of things, but the worst of it was she forbade me to eat a bite of meat, or she’d call off the engagement. That was when I called off the engagement myself,” Gussie explained, with a bit of gusto.</p><p>“Oh right,” Hastings said, sounding not altogether certain.</p><p>I had a sudden old impulse, a sort of deeply ingrained instinct  to try to set things right between Gussie and Madeline lest the Bassett fall to me instead, and then I remembered that she was a Bassett no longer, and even if she did get it into her head to marry me, a reconciliation between her and Gussie would do me no good, as Gussie was hitched to Em and it was in fact my task to keep the two apart to the best of my ability - thankfully my abilities hardly seemed a necessary measure. It just meant I would have to find something else to keep me out of Madeline’s line of sight - or, hopefully, Jeeves would soon be back to himself and he could come up with something.</p><p>Meanwhile, Hastings went on with the questioning; “You were in your room during the incident?”</p><p>Gussie’s fiery indignation on the matter of Madeline quickly gave way to the chap’s usual anxious manner. “You mean when Spode- I mean Lord Sidcup... well…?”</p><p>“Yes, on that evening, were you in your room from when you left the parlour until you heard the crash?”</p><p>“Y-yes, of course!”</p><p>“You didn’t happen to hear another crash, more like a thud, while you were there?”</p><p>“No, no, nothing of the sort!”</p><p>“You didn’t get along well with Lord Sidcup, but I don’t suppose he knew anything about you that no one else did?”</p><p>Gussie quaked at the mere suggestion. “I sure hope not! Not that I suppose it matters now.”</p><p>“I say,” I said by way of agreement.</p><p>We chewed the fat a bit longer, before Stiffy and Stinker Pinker made an appearance. Gussie soon after took to the hills, so to speak. I couldn’t very well blame the chap; Stiffy can make for a stiff opponent at the best of times, and I’m not ashamed to say I was hardly keen on interviewing her on the matter at hand.</p><p>Hastings, however, knew as little of Stiffy as of Madeline or Spode and took the metaphorical bull by the horns; “You were both in the sitting room looking for Mrs. Pinker’s shawl when you heard the crash?”</p><p>“Yes,” Stiffy said, beating poor Stinker to it by a few yards, though it was probably for the best.</p><p>“Before the crash, did you hear a thud by any chance?”</p><p>“A thud?” Stinker asked. “Like something heavy falling over?”</p><p>“Just so, I’d say.”</p><p>Stiffy nodded at the description. “I think I did, though I didn’t pay it any heed at the time. Do you mean to say you think that was really what did him in? But then what was that big crash?”</p><p>“We have reason to believe that Mr. Wooster was framed,” Hastings explained.</p><p>“Oh, that’s just dreadful!” Stiffy said, a bit overwrought, I thought.</p><p>“You didn’t happen to deliver a note to anyone that night, that could have accidentally ended up under my door?” I asked - I have learned from experience that a chap must be firm in his dealings with Stiffy.</p><p>“A note? What sort of note?”</p><p>“Asking to meet out under the stars and what not?”</p><p>“What are you saying Bertie?” she demanded. “How dare you! I was with Harold looking for my shawl the whole time!”</p><p>“I say, I didn’t mean it like that! Surely it was meant for Stinker here, but just ended up in the wrong place.”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t write it! As I said, we were busy looking for my shawl, I could have hardly delivered a note to Harold or anyone else.”</p><p>Meanwhile, Hastings had torn another sheet of paper out of his notebook. “Could you each write a sentence for us, just as a matter of routine?” he asked.</p><p>Stinker reached out to accept the paper, but Stiffy stopped him short. “No, we cannot! I will not stand for this!” She got to her feet for emphasis.</p><p>“This isn’t about Wooster’s note,” Hastings insisted. “You knew Lord Sidcup well, didn’t you? Is there anything he could have known about you?”</p><p>“Of course not!”</p><p>Stiffy seemed ready to stalk from the room when Mr. Satterthwaite remarked, “If I’m not mistaken, you were still wearing your shawl when you went up to bed. I’m certain I remember noticing the pattern when we all ran out to investigate the shattered vase; I remarked upon a certain similarity between them.”</p><p>Stiffy faltered and with a glance over at her, Stinker began to explain, “Well, you see, we weren’t really looking for a shawl. We were waiting to meet-”</p><p>“I wanted to meet Lord Sidcup to have a word with him,” Stiffy cut in, resuming her seat at the table with offended indignation, “but he never arrived. After what happened I didn’t want to muddy the waters.”</p><p>“What would you want to have a word with Spode about?” I asked, surprised.</p><p>At about the same time, Hastings said, “Then it was you who wrote that note to Lord Sidcup about discussing some information he had on you!”</p><p>Stiffy sighed. “Yes. I hate to speak ill of my host, but last time Mrs. Travers visited my uncle, Sir Watkyn Bassett, at Totleigh Towers, I caught her trying to steal a piece from his silver collection. Well, I couldn’t very well just do nothing about that-”</p><p>“So you blackmailed her!” I very well knew the ways of Stiffy, who, as innocent as she may appear, is even less scrupulous than Aunt Dahlia, and will rarely pass up a chance for blackmail, and I knew she had been eyeing Anatole rather enviously of late.</p><p>“Bertie!” she said, and it sounded rather like a threat - not so different from my own Aunt Dahlia’s tone when we had spoken with her about the same. “A vicar’s wife does not blackmail. In fact, it was your precious aunt who threatened to blackmail me, and upon discovering that she had invited both Lord Sidcup - who as you say, I have known since I was child - and myself, her intention seemed clear, so I plucked up my nerve to speak with him before she got to him.”</p><p>If anything, it was Spode who had to pluck up the nerve to speak with Stiffy, but I supposed it was just cutting - or rather splitting hairs at that point.</p><p>“So he did know something about you!” Hastings exclaimed.</p><p>Stiffy waved him down with something of a, “tut.”</p><p>“I say, but it was Jeeves that Aunt Dahlia wanted to talk to, not Spode,” I said.</p><p>“Jeeves?” Stiffy asked. “But then why was Lord Sidcup here?”</p><p>“Angela said she wanted to see Madline,” I explained. Angela had also mentioned something about forcing Tuppy to choose between spending his time with Spode or myself, but I declined to mention that part.</p><p>“What would Jeeves know?”</p><p>I shrugged. “Just about everything, it often seems.”</p><p>Stiffy turned back to Hastings. “But I swear, I didn’t hurt a hair on Lord Sidcup’s head.”</p><p>“And you didn’t write that note to Wooster either?” Hastings asked.</p><p>“Of course not!” Stiffy said, her ire fast returning.</p><p>“You wouldn’t mind writing a sentence for us then? ‘The quick brown dog jumped over the lazy fox?’”</p><p>“Certainly.”</p><p>Stiffy and Stinker each wrote their line and handed the paper back to Hastings.</p><p>He gave it a bit of a searching l. before declaring, “I think it’s a match, though it’d take a real expert to be sure. It’s a shame you threw away your note, Wooster, what do you make of it?”</p><p>I accepted the paper and looked at the lines this way and that. I sort of recognized Stiffy’s neat little letters and Stinker’s scrawl, but look at them how I may, neither seemed to match that note, though I could hardly be sure.</p><p>“I don’t think so,” I said at last. “Stiffy, Stinker, you’re sure you didn’t see anyone about who could have slipped a note under my door or what not?”</p><p>Stiffy shook her head. “I’m sorry Bertie, I couldn’t say. We were in the sitting room the whole time. You really want to catch this admirer of yours?”</p><p>“Well, it must be someone! It’s probably just an accident, but until we know what happened, everyone will be a suspect.”</p><p>“I’ll let you know if I learn anything,” Stiffy said.</p><p>Mr. Satterthwaite, Hastings, and I took that as our cue to declare our luncheon complete and take our leave.</p><p>As we did, Sinker said, “We should catch up sometime.”</p><p>“Rather!” I agreed, and then bid Stinker and Stiffy “Toodle-pip.”</p><p> </p><p>We didn’t have to look long for the next suspect - so to speak. Tuppy was in the hall on his way to lunch.</p><p>I wasn’t too keen on talking to the chap as you may imagine, so I was content to hang back a bit as Hastings approached him. “Mr. Glossop, could we ask you a few questions?”</p><p>“What’s this about?” Tuppy demanded, glaring at all of us, but I could feel his ire directed at Bertram W. in particular.</p><p>“We have reason to believe that Mr. Wooster was framed,” Hastings explained.</p><p>“Framed?” Tuppy demanded, sounding none too pleased about it, and not in the concerned for a pal sort of way.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Wooster certainly didn’t do it, so that’s the only explanation, I’m afraid.” Hastings seemed hardly aware of the dangerous waters he was treading in.</p><p>Tuppy wasn’t looking at Hastings any more, instead he was glaring directly at me, his ears red, rather nearing purple. It was only a matter of seconds before he blew.</p><p>He started quietly enough, though hardly calm. “Oh, I see how it is. You’d rather run around playing detective than admit that you bumped into that rotten bust.”</p><p>“I say, I didn’t bump into it!” I protested, but even as I was saying it, I knew it was a mistake.</p><p>“Can’t you take responsibility once in your life?” Tuppy shouted - not quite a roar, but close. “Now you know what it’s like to kill a man, but you can’t even admit to it, you blasted coward! Is there anything you won’t run away from? The rest of us all did our part, it’s only you who’s too good for the law, too good for King and country!”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Hastings bravely interrupted, though I knew it could lead nowhere good, not for me.</p><p>Tuppy, for his part, ignored it. “We all left our families behind, but you don’t even have a family for an excuse. You’re just a rotten traitor afraid for your own skin! Why should you think of anyone else now when you’d rather be back in New York living it up!”</p><p>“You deserted?” Hastings asked, aghast.</p><p>I nodded, unable to argue.</p><p>You see, I am hardly the deserving chap I may appear to be. Though still spry and fit enough - unlike Gussie, who was refused from the service no less than three times on account of his poor eyesight, or even Pinker, who served as a minister to the troops despite being more likely to shoot his own foot than the Huns - I am ashamed to say that I sat the whole rotten thing out. Jeeves and I were in New York when the war broke out - we had been forewarned you see - and we remained there until the armistice. So, my dear reader, I am ashamed to say that I could rightly be called a coward and worse.</p><p>“You shouldn’t even be here!” Tuppy said, gearing up for another tirade.</p><p>However, before he could gain steam, there was a quiet cough from the other side of the room.</p><p>We all turned by the same impulse to find none other than Jeeves standing patiently off to the side, as though he had always been there and we simply hadn’t noticed. Even as I was in a much defeated state, my heart lifted a little at the sight of the chap.</p><p>“Jeeves!” Tuppy exclaimed in surprise, though he was hardly congenial. “What is it?”</p><p>“Mr. Glossop, might I take the liberty of speaking with you privately?” Jeeves said, his expression unchanging, as though it were simply a matter of the settings for dinner or what not, but Jeeves would hardly interrupt with such a trivial thing at such a critical moment - though any interruption was a relief to me.</p><p>“What do you want?” Tuppy demanded, making no move to retreat.</p><p>“It is in regard to Mr. Wooster, sir.”</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“If I may say so, it was not Mr. Wooster’s decision to decline to serve, sir. It was mine.”</p><p>“Yours?” Hastings put in.</p><p>“Yes, sir. I am afraid that to serve in the war would have destroyed Mr. Wooster, whether he survived or not, and therefore I took it upon myself to ensure that he did not serve. It was on my firm suggestion that we went to New York and if he went so far as to insist upon volunteering, I would have taken some measure to ensure that he was rejected.”</p><p>“Jeeves!” I exclaimed - this was quite enough.</p><p>He inclined his head in acknowledgement of my interjection, but otherwise his attention remained fixed on Tuppy. “I know I have taken a great liberty, sir, but I deemed it necessary for ensuring Mr. Wooster’s wellbeing. I am certain you understand the necessity.”</p><p>Tuppy seemed to mull it over a bit, his ears no less red, before at last he declared, “Fine!” and stalked off.</p><p>A remarkable stillness came in his wake. For a moment I stood stunned at what the marvel Jeeves had accomplished yet again - though I expected that no matter how magnificent Jeeve was, Tuppy and I would never truly be pals again.</p><p>“Jeeves!” I exclaimed belatedly, this time to thank the chap for rallying around in my time of need, not that I was in any posish. to deserve it.</p><p>However, Jeeves was gone by the time the word left my mouth, leaving only Hastings, Mr. Satterthwaite, and myself in that ill-fated hall.</p><p>Despite Jeeves’s, by his standards, enthusiastic defense, my zest for the investigation had gone. Tuppy was right after all, here I had been enjoying the investigation, when the real <em> preux </em> thing to do to spare the rest of the company, Jeeves among them, would be to turn myself in and face the music. After all, what did my reputation matter, especially as it was clear to all that I had done it.</p><p>However, before I could call the whole thing off, M. Poirot made an appearance.</p><p>It was Hastings who alerted me to it really, with a shout of, “Poirot!”</p><p>I jumped a little, my nerves still tightly strung, and looked around, and sure enough there was the little Belgian chap, hobbling in. We may as well have been standing in the middle of Times Square for all the people that had come through in such short order.</p><p>“M. Wooster, may I have a word, if you please?” he said.</p><p>“With me?” I asked, rather wishing that Jeeves had stayed on.</p><p>For all the chap’s kindly demeanor, it seemed clear to me that the only reason Mr. Poirot could possibly want a word with me after all that would be to take me in for desertion. And even if that wasn’t his errand, I knew what had to be done.</p><p>“<em> Oui </em>,” he said, “I am afraid I have been dearly mistaken.”</p><p>It wasn’t at all what I had expected, but his disappointment wasn’t too far off. “Oh, yes, well,” I said, stumbling about with the words.</p><p>I let Mr. Poirot lead me into the now empty parlour.</p><p>Thankfully, Mr. Poirot took the lead, as it were. “Is it true, M. Wooster, that it was on M. Jeeves’s suggestion that you waited out the war?”</p><p>“Well,” I hesitated, “it wasn’t a suggestion quite, we had something of a row about it, really, but in the end, I agreed to it; I was the one who shirked my duty.”</p><p>“Just one more question, M. Wooster. Your will, which leaves the majority of your considerable fortune to M. Jeeves, you made it after the war?”</p><p>That wasn’t what I had expected either, but I caught up well enough. “Oh, no, hardly! It must have been ten years ago, not long after we were kidnapped by Erik, you see.”</p><p>“And M. Jeeves knew about it at the time?”</p><p>“Of course! He handles all the finances, what?”</p><p>“<em> Bien </em>. Then, I am afraid I have sorely misjudged M. Jeeves. If he has gone to such a length to ensure your safety, then he can hardly be intent on collecting his inheritance. I did what a detective must never do, and allowed my own prejudices to cloud my judgement.”</p><p>The clouds seemed to clear away as far as I was concerned as well, leaving a bright blue sky, as it were. “I say, you really believe he’s innocent?”</p><p>“Yes, I would say so.”</p><p>“Well, you’re hardly the only one who made that mistake,” I said sympathetically. I sighed. “He’s still certain you’re a danger to me, and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise. I’m terribly worried about the man, you know. It’s as though he’s still stuck out there on the moor, fighting for his life.”</p><p>M. Poirot smiled. “Perhaps the little grey cells will be able to come up with a solution that will resolve all of our troubles, eh? Your little mystery and the troubles of M. Jeeves.”</p><p>“You mean I won’t have to turn myself in?”</p><p>The little man puffed out his chest in a show of pride. “I should say not! To imprison the wrong culprit on my watch would be a terrible mark against the powers of Hercule Poirot. I say, it will not do. No, you will have your solution. Only now it is up to the little grey cells.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jeeves convinced Wooster to spend WWI in America in <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900514">Jeeves and the British Government</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Poirot’s “little grey cells” didn’t take long to come to a solution. I had just come downstairs the next morning after my usual fashion - much better rested than the day before - when Hastings and Poirot hastened me aside for a word. The whole plan was laid out before me in short order. We lunched together, and then Poirot and Hastings bid us all farewell, begging Aunt Dahlia’s forgiveness for their hasty return to London for the night on account of some urgent business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever since Poirot’s arrival, I had hardly seen Jeeves outside of the course of his duties in the mornings and evenings, a far cry from his usual constant company. And then, almost as soon as Seppings had seen Poirot and Hastings out the door, Jeeves reappeared at my elbow with a quiet cough, like a sheep on a distant mountaintop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir,” he said quietly, not waiting for me to ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Jeeves?” I said, giving the chap a searching l., but I was met with nothing more than the old stuffed frog routine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, I allowed Jeeves to lead me off into a quiet corner, out of earshot of the rest of the company.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, Jeeves?” I asked urgently - it certainly had to be urgent if he came to me now after giving me the cold shoulder for the better part of the past couple days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He answered with a lowered voice, “Sir, I understand that Mr. Poirot intends to involve you in some manner of scheme?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, as a matter of fact, yes,” I admitted a bit reluctantly, readying myself for the inevitable fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would advise against taking part in any plan of Mr. Poirot’s, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” I demanded, a little sharply - perhaps a little bit too battle ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I expect, sir, that any plan of his, as innocuous as it may appear, is imbued with an ulterior motive that would not be to our liking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeeves, enough of this!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir,” Jeeves argued, for him rather emphatically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could see the man’s fears well enough, but they were all nonsense, if only I could make him see it. I wanted to reach out to the chap, but there was nothing I could do along those lines, not standing there in the hall where anyone could chance to walk by.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeeves, this is rot! Mr. Poirot has been nothing but helpful - at least since you managed to  convince him that you’re not after my fortune, that is. What sort of ulterior motive could the chap have in all this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could not say, sir, however I expect there is no need to remind you that the fact that he is my cousin is indication enough that his intentions cannot be beneficent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He came from the same place you did, didn’t he? And you’re not there anymore, you don’t have to fight each other!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Poirot has given me no choice in the matter, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dash it all, Jeeves!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I beg of you, sir,” Jeeves said, and he’s hardly the sort to beg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have any better plan for getting to the bottom of this and clearing everyone’s name?” I demanded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, sir. But that is hardly germane-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Jeeves,” I said with some finality. “At least Poirot is trying to help. And I have to try; I can’t back out now when everyone is depending on me, not this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeeves didn’t exactly hesitate - the chap would never do such a thing - but he took his time in answering, and when he did, his tone was particularly dire. “Sir, if Mr. Poirot is able to enact his plan, there is no guarantee that I will be able to spare you the consequences.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a dire warning coming from Jeeves, but I refused to yield. “Then so be it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man seemed to have nothing more to say, so I turned to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, as I turned away, Jeeves made a final plea; “Sir!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I glanced over my shoulder at the chap. My heart ached for him, it truly did. There’s much I may never understand about the man, but I knew his fears well enough, and though he concealed it well behind cold shoulders and stuffed frogs, the indomitable Jeeves really was afraid. But I couldn’t very well give in to his every fear, not when I knew it was all for naught. Jeeves may have glimmered with intelligence, but it was all wasted on this preoccupation of his, and it needed to end. I only hoped Poirot had a plan for how to do it when this was all over and done with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Jeeves,”  I said, and then I turned and went.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We didn’t exactly part ways after that. For the whole rest of the day, Jeeves hovered about, lingering just visible out of the corner of my eye. He was as stuffed as ever, looking rather like a piece of the furniture, only occasionally materializing closer at hand with a drink or a light for my cigarette. He waited the table at dinner too, lingering behind me in very much the same way even though Poirot was miles away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, after dinner, when the rest of the party made for the parlour, I called for Seppings, speaking as loudly as I could without sounding unnatural, though I was sure my voice shook as I played my part, “Seppings, I would like to call Mr. Poirot in London. I have some urgent news for him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Seppings said and went to get him on the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I followed the man out and waited anxiously by the phone as the operator sent the call to London. I could feel Jeeves’s eyes on me, watching rather more than disapprovingly from the other end of the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, what sounded rather like Mr. Poirot himself answered on the other end, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bonjour</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it is M. Wooster who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ye-es,” I said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hoped it wasn’t Poirot in London; he wasn’t supposed to be quite that far away. But he had insisted that no matter what happened, I was to go through with the plan and not show any surprise or let anything slip, so I did just that and went on with the show, so to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Bertie Wooster speaking,” I continued, grasping at straws a bit. “You see, it’s terribly urgent. I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t sure where it was - the note I mean - I’m afraid I threw it in some drawer, and I didn’t think it was so terribly important, so I burned it, or I mean I said I had.” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I mean to say that in fact I haven’t actually burned it, to tell the truth, I still have that note that was slipped under my door that night - on the night of the incident, I mean. I found it in my drawer and I thought it might be important, so I thought I ought to call you about it and let you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see…” said the fellow on the other end - though for a moment I could have sworn it sounded not like Poirot, but like a woman. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Merci</span>
  </em>
  <span>, M. Wooster. That is truly most important. I am afraid I am still in London tonight, but Hastings and I, we will return to Brinkley Court </span>
  <em>
    <span>tout suite</span>
  </em>
  <span>; we will be there to see your note first thing tomorrow morning.” He paused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll come to have a look at it first thing in the morning?” I asked loudly, belatedly remembering my cue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oui,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I expect Inspector Japp at Scotland Yard will want to have a look at it to analyze the handwriting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, you’ll send it in to the Scotland Yard to look at the handwriting?” I exclaimed, again my voice rather louder than necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oui</span>
  </em>
  <span>, M. Wooster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eh bien</span>
  </em>
  <span>, will that be all?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes I think so, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>A demain</span>
  </em>
  <span>, M. Wooster.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, tomorrow then!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, the chap on the other end hung up and I did the same, more than ready to collapse back into a ready chair with a s. and b., light on the s. Jeeves, of course, had no sympathy to spare, though he dutifully followed me to the parlour to rejoin the rest of the company.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this about that note?” Aunt Dahlia demanded as I poured myself a glass - in evidence of Jeeves’s displeasure, the chap gave no indication of doing the honors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s as I said,” I said, quite ready to be done with the whole thing, “I didn’t really burn it, I just threw it in my drawer and I just found the thing again and thought Mr. Poirot might want to take a look at it, what?” Everyone certainly heard it that time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders,” Aunt Dahlia said with a shake of her head and thankfully that was that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one seemed inclined to linger about in the parlour for long. We made for a dashed awkward company and I could hardly stand sitting about waiting when I knew what was to come. I drained my glass in short order and called it an early end to the evening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> I didn’t really expect Jeeves to say much as he helped me out of the fish and soup, but he was particularly stony. It gave the whole thing a bit of a feeling of preparing to go off to war, as I shouldered the bathrobe with grave solemnity. I could hardly enjoy a leisurely bath under the circs. and I was as good as in and out in a flash. Jeeves saw that I was comfortable in bed, and then, to my surprise, the chap rippled off to attend to some matter of his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was somewhat disappointed, to tell the truth. I had expected Jeeves to put up something of a fight, to insist on spending the night in my room standing watch, which would have certainly scared whoever dared come in search of the letter off the track. I hadn’t been sure how I would convince the chap to leave me to my devices, but apparently he needed no convincing after all. It was for the best, but it stung a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The end result was one Bertram Wooster, lying for all I knew alone in the dark, waiting for someone to come creeping into my chamber. If all had gone to plan, Hastings had stowed himself away in the closet, but I had neither heard nor seen him - which I supposed was a good sign, if not a comforting one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no danger of falling asleep, the thrill of the chase, so to speak, kept me well awake. However, I would hardly call it an exciting vigil; mostly restless boredom interrupted by a jolt of fear at every creak of the floorboards. I heard every person who came or went through the corridor outside, few and far between as they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I held my breath as the creaking sound of footsteps passed by the door. I could have sworn they were about to stop just outside, but then they continued on and I resumed my long watch in the dark. I began to wonder if perhaps Jeeves didn’t have a point. The barest reflection in the window reminded me of his cousin Erik’s bright yellow eyes shining in the darkness. But I had not heeded Jeeves’s warning, and so he had left me to face whatever was to come alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My musings had gone so far when I heard another creak of the floorboards some ways down the hall. It had been quiet for some time now, and for a moment I thought it was only the old house settling. Then I heard more footsteps, slow and creeping, padding down the corridor toward my bedroom door. And when they could draw no closer, they stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment of silence. Then, the door creaked open, just a sliver. My heart raced. For a moment I could have sworn I could see Erik’s twisted face reflected in the window pane, but I couldn’t really make out the features, and I forced myself still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abruptly, the door swung open and then quietly shut. I belatedly remembered I was supposed to be pretending to sleep and in opposition to any instinct I may have possessed, closed my eyes against whoever it was tiptoeing across my room. The person toed this way and then the other, as though they were making like the cat in the adage, letting I dare not wait upon I would. And then at last, they set about pulling at the drawers of my dresser. My clothes rustled as they rummaged through them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, I heard the door swing open once more, much more quietly this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes popped open of their own accord and I turned my head toward the source of the sound - thankfully the trespasser didn’t seem to notice the movement. Silhouetted in the doorframe could have been none other than Jeeves, but just as he made to enter, the light flicked on, and as though on cue, the closet door flung open and out leaped a figure who could only have been Hastings. In a matter of seconds, he had the intruder pinned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pushed myself upright in the bed - there was no more reason for me to pretend to be asleep. Jeeves appeared at my side, wearily eyeing Mr. Poirot who had joined us as well, completing the company. From my new vantage point, I could see none other than Gussie Fink-Nottle struggling in vain against Hastings’s hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say!” I exclaimed, there seemed to be nothing else for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d say,” Hastings agreed. He looked to be about as surprised as I was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, what’s the meaning of this?” Gussie rather sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hastings, would you do the honors of escorting Mr. Fink-Nottle downstairs?” Mr. Poirot said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hastings held Gussie’s arms against his back, and led him from my room, into the crowd that had gathered around the door at all the commotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Augustus!” Em exclaimed, rushing to the front. She seemed like she was about to embrace Gussie, but the presence of Hastings, still restraining him, held her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The seas, so to speak, parted to make way for Mr. Poirot, Hastings, and their prisoner, before rushing back to follow them downstairs. Em seemed to be in good hands with Angela and Madeline, and so I hung back a bit with Jeeves, still in a state of stunned disbelief myself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say, it’s really Gussie that did all that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves said, still on the stony side - and when he’s like that “indeed, sir” can mean just about anything - but a little calmer, I thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing else for it then, is there Jeeves, but to flock ‘round? We certainly can’t let Gussie face the music on his own - we did go to school together after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said, and I had a feeling he really meant it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We were the last of the company to trail after Poirot and Hastings - and Gussie, of course - into the sitting room. I took a seat between Aunt Dahlia and Mr. Satterthwaite and Jeeves hovered at my shoulder. On the other side of the little half-circle of chairs and sofas, Hastings was occupied with keeping an eye on Gussie. Mr. Poirot stood expectantly in the center, in front of the darkened fireplace. Everyone aside from Poirot, Hastings, and Jeeves were all in their night clothes; even Gussie was wearing green pajamas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I believe that is everyone,” Mr. Poirot concluded once I was seated. “First, I must make my apologies for myself and M. Hastings for our little deception, but it was necessary that no one be aware of our presence for the final result.” He made a little bow toward Aunt Dahlia.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what is that final result?” Aunt Dahlia demanded. “You can’t very well go around tackling my houseguests!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Poirot, however, was undaunted. “M. Fink-Nottle surreptitiously entered the room of your nephew after he believed all were asleep in search of the note which he had written on the night of Lord Sidcup’s death in order to lure M. Wooster to where he could be framed for the crime. However, I cannot truly claim the credit for this success. I must first confess that even Hercule Poirot is susceptible to those prejudices which can, if left unchecked, result in the incrimination of an innocent man while the true culprit evades justice, and for that I must offer my sincerest apologies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> There was no doubt, to me at least, who Mr. Poirot’s words were directed at. I glanced up at Jeeves, but the chap looked unmoved. I could only hope that Poirot’s little grey cells could come up with something that succeeded at getting through to Jeeves as well as they had caught Gussie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s all this rot?” Tuppy demanded, looking the least pleased of everyone to have been dragged out of bed. “Obviously it must have been Wooster!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>mon ami</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hastings’s story to tell,” Poirot said, stepping aside to make way for his rather startled chum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, right!” Hastings made to stand, but then remembered Gussie sitting beside him and thought better of it. “Well, I thought the very same as you when we got here, but well, the crux of the matter is that the murder didn’t really happen then. There was that big crash when Wooster was standing up on the landing, just above Lord Sidcup, but that was just a set up; the culprit just shattered a plate to make a lot of noise. The real murder happened earlier when Mr. Satterthwaite and Mr and Mrs. Pinker heard a dull thud” - Hastings turned to the aforementioned for confirmation and they all nodded in assent - “that was caused by that bust falling on Lord Sidcup, which means really, anyone could have done it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, not exactly anyone,” Hastings amended. “As we discovered, the whole thing really started with a note. Not the note that Mr. Wooster received, but the note that the constable found in Lord Sidcup’s room, telling him to meet someone that night about some manner of information. That’s where he was going on that fateful evening. That note had been written and delivered earlier that evening by Mr. and Mrs. Pinker. You see, Mrs. Pinker had caught Mrs. Travers trying to steal some silver from her uncle, Sir Watkyn Bassett, and thought Mrs. Travers was now trying to blackmail her using some information she meant to acquire from Lord Sidcup.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have the gall to accuse me of blackmail?” Aunt Dahlia demanded. “It was Mrs. Pinker who was trying to blackmail me over it all! She thought she could get Anatole out of the deal!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How dare you!” Stiffy countered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well,” Hastings attempted to regain a hold on the denouement, as seemed to be taking shape, “but the point of the matter is that Mrs. Pinker gave the letter to Lord Sidcup, telling him to meet her and Mr. Pinker in the sitting room that evening to talk it all over, which is why he was out. At that time, Mrs. Travers was in her study, talking to Jeeves - who I’ve been led to believe was her real source of information - putting both of them in the clear. Mrs. Glossop and Mrs. Fink-Nottle were in Mrs. Glossop’s room, ruling them out as well, and Lady Sidcup was already in bed when the tragedy occurred.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Sidcup would not have been an even-tempered husband,” Mr. Satterthwaite remarked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave her alone!” Angela exclaimed. “Madeline’s been through enough!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Angela,” Madeline said, “you don’t have to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are fortunate to have such a loyal friend,” Mr. Satterthwaite said, but there was an awfully rummy weight to his words that made them sound rather more suspicious than such a thing ought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now see here!” I protested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We know it can’t have been any of them,” Hastings said, in an attempt to console everyone at once. “But what I don’t understand is why it was Mr. Fink-Nottle when I was sure it must have been Mr. Glossop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me?” Tuppy demanded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, why not? You’re the one who argued with Lord Sidcup right before he died, and you haven’t made any secret of your animosity for Mr. Wooster, there’s no doubt who you would frame.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Tuppy faltered a little, though his bluster hardly faded. “It wasn’t anything serious, I tell you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was your argument about?” Hastings asked rather conversationally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tuppy froze a bit. “Just a little business venture, if you must know. The returns were a little slow in coming and Lord Sidcup wanted them now. Hardly a motive for murder.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve seen men murdered for less.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But if Mr. Glossop were to murder a man, I doubt he would do so without looking the man in the eyes,” Mr. Satterthwaite put in. “To me, it seemed to be more of a crime of opportunity than of passion. And Mr. Fink-Nottle had plenty of reasons to want Lord Sidcup dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you suggesting?” Gussie spoke up for the first time in his own defense. “It’s Bertie who’s madly in love with Madeline, not me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that, all eyes were on me again. I glanced up at Jeeves in the hope that he could save me from the soup as he’s known to do every now and again - and often in between.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But before Jeeves had a chance, Mr. Poirot asked, “Are you in love with Lady Sidcup, M. Wooster?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I mean,” I gave a bit of a frantic scramble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Madeline made to interject with her usual nonsense, but Mr. Poirot motioned her to silence. “It is best to tell the lady the truth, </span>
  <em>
    <span>non</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But well” - everyone was watching me expectantly - “I say, it’s a funny thing rather, you see...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Poirot looked at me over his pince-nez spectacles in a distinctly aunt-like manner of the most disapproving sort. “You are not in love with Lady Sidcup, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, when you put it that way, I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You regard even your valet with more affection,” Mr. Poirot pointed out, rather more baldly than necessary - I may have flushed a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Bertie’s been alone all these years, wasting away!” Madeline exclaimed, unable to hold her silence any longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I make do, what?” I made an attempt at cheer, though I was none too pleased at Mr. Poirot’s methods; they were hardly </span>
  <em>
    <span>preux</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Madeline could make any further protest, Poirot concluded, “And so we are left with M. Fink-Nottle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyone would get tired of being bullied by Lord Sidcup, especially over something that isn’t even true,” Mr. Satterthwaite remarked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gussie opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t have a chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeeves interrupted with a quiet cough. “If I may be so bold, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question was directed at me and I replied with some relief, “Yes, do go on, Jeeves!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What I believe Mr. Fink-Nottle means to say is that it was all a regrettable accident, and that upon discovering Lord Sidcup dead, Mr. Fink-Nottle, pardon me for saying so, panicked and attempted to lay the blame on Mr. Wooster instead. And now, if I may take the liberty of suggesting that Mr. Fink-Nottle call upon his solicitor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, the proceedings rather broke up. Gussie, escorted by Hastings, went to talk on the phone with his solicitor, Angela and Tuppy took the opportunity to have it out in the corner, and Aunt Dahlia went to deal with the police who soon arrived - having apparently been called upon by Mr. Poirot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Madeline turned on me, “Bertie, is it really true, what Mr. Poirot said?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I say, I’m afraid so,” I admitted. It was hardly the </span>
  <em>
    <span>preux</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to do, but it was already out. “It’s all just a big misunderstanding, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I see,” Madeline said, and to my surprise, with all that going on about how sad life is, she sounded a little disappointed. “As long as you’re happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rather!” I replied, happy to have that over with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Madeline stared at me a bit longer in that doey way of hers, which I never know how to respond to. Thankfully it was Jeeves to the rescue to fill my glass, and light a cigarette - none of us knew how much longer this little late-night get together would last - and by the time I turned back around, Madeline was busy with Em, who seemed to be a newfound friend, and they seemed to be doing well enough consoling each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sat back and watched the rest with Mr. Satterthwaite. I chewed the fat a bit with Stiffy and Stinker, but mostly I felt content with my share of peace and quiet, Jeeves lingering at the elbow. I glanced up at the chap every so often, but he was as inscrutable as ever, and I knew I wouldn’t get any more out of him, certainly not in front of the company.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things were beginning to wrap up by the time Mr. Poirot came over to me. “M. Wooster, a word, if you please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeeves made no protest, and so I followed Poirot into the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” I asked with a yawn - though I tried to stifle it, my efforts were in vain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like all the British gentry, you have a little experience with horses, no?” Poirot asked, catching me rather by surprise, as I had found the chap is wont to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I say! Has Gussie run off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it is just that it presents itself as a solution to the little problem which you posed to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean to buck up Jeeves?” I asked urgently, only belatedly thinking to lower my voice. “What do horses have to do with it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was the cavalry who rescued us from that place where we were raised. I will never forget stepping into the light of day and seeing rows of men on horseback come to greet us, and I would be most surprised if it is not the same for M. Jeeves. Perhaps he is simply in need of a reminder.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day dawned bright and clear, not that I was awake to see it do so. But when my eyes did struggle open rather later and I inhaled the steam wafting off the morning oolong, I considered it just the sort of morn when the lark would be on the wing and snail on the thorn. I may have even said as much. However, both Jeeves and I were rather quiet that m. for the most part, pensive I’d call it, and he didn’t linger long after coming in with the tea.</p><p>After the excitement of the previous evening, we both had a lot to think about. Jeeves didn’t seem quite so stuffed or stony as he had been for the past few days, but he seemed content to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being. I didn’t think he had spent the rest of the night standing watch, though I could hardly be certain.</p><p>My own plans were coming along nicely. I dressed in what may have been record time - Jeeves raised an eyebrow at my particularly provincial ensemble - and then it was down to the kitchens for the necessaries. Breakfast was more of an afterthought. Then, I sent for Seppings to tell Jeeves to meet me by the summer house to go over some business of the utmost importance, before heading off to the stables.</p><p>I greeted each of the horses with a lump of sugar and a scratch between the ears, before finally selecting a good, sturdy horse for the day’s errand; a perfectly pleasant lady by the name of Buttercup. It was tempting to call for a pure white stallion, just for the look of the thing, but I expected a dappled mare would do the trick well enough - I very much doubted the men of the cavalry all had white stallions after all. It was an easy thing to swing myself into the saddle and then we were off.</p><p>Living in London as I do, I don’t often have much occasion for horseback riding, but on my not infrequent visits to the countryside, it is a particular pleasure of mine when I am not otherwise preoccupied dodging engagements and being commissioned to steal cow creamers - an unfortunately frequent occurrence. I did a little hunting in my youth, but mostly I just enjoy riding; the wind in my hair and what not, consider it a legacy from my rural antecedents.</p><p>I spurred Buttercup into a bit of a trot on the way to the kitchens to pick up the basket, and then we carefully wound our way through the gardens. It was all about making an entrance, you see. As we neared the summer house, we slowed to walk and then a creep. Buttercup and I peeked out from between the trees. Sure enough, there was Jeeves, standing by a nearby tree, having a smoke.</p><p>Jeeves, being the chap he is, spotted us in the creeping phase rather than the gallop I’d intended to approach at - it was a little close as we were, but I had some inkling of going back down the trail a little ways to give the girl a running start, but that was all for naught now. He made to toss away his gasper and I could just about see the word “sir” forming upon his lips,  but then the strangest thing happened; the chap simply stopped, frozen cold as it were.</p><p>I gave him a sheepish beam and straightened myself in the saddle in my best imitation of a man of the cavalry, though I abruptly realized just how silly I must have looked, not at all like those strapping military gents. Still, I urged Buttercup forward, going for a dignified sort of amble rather than the striking gallop.</p><p>Jeeves finally seemed to come to himself and put out the gasper, but he didn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes off old Bertram, which for all the esteem Jeeves may hold for me, is hardly what I would call a frequent occurrence. He’s not the sort of chap who’s ever caught off guard, but if ever Jeeves was caught off guard, I would point to just that moment and say that was it. There was something even wide-eyed about the chap, like one of those fellows looking with wild surmise, silent upon a peak in Darien. </p><p>“What ho, Jeeves!” I declared, though it wasn’t really the sort of greeting a cavalry man would give.</p><p>“Sir?” was all Jeeves said, no less w.-e. than before.</p><p>I held out a hand to the chap in a silent invitation, like the prince offering his hand to a lady at the ball or something to that effect. “What do you say?”</p><p>“Sir?” he asked again, rather more seriously this time, a bit dubious, in fact.</p><p>I confess I faltered a bit, not quite as brave as I ought have appeared. “I thought we might go for a bit of a ride, what? You see, there’s a pleasant grove a little ways on that’s just the thing for stopping to have a picnic lunch. But only if you want to join me, that is. I understand if you’d rather have a quiet luncheon in the kitchens or-”</p><p>Jeeves mercifully interrupted at that juncture, “That is most kind, sir.” He still sounded a little doubtful, but it seemed the chap had made up his mind and he stepped forward to accept the proffered hand - if proffered is the word for it.</p><p>However, Buttercup took just that opportunity to stretch her legs and shuffle her hooves a bit. Only when she had settled with a few pats on the mane did Jeeves deign to approach once more. I would have almost said the chap was being cautious about it, taking a slow approach and examining the saddle as he did so.</p><p>“You have ridden before, what?” I asked.</p><p>“Once or twice, sir.”</p><p>“I say!” It’s a rare thing that I have the advantage over Jeeves, I felt a little bad for the chap, really. “Well, you just put your foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up.”</p><p>“Indeed, sir.”</p><p>“You’ll have to go behind me unless you want to steer, because I’m afraid if you were in front I wouldn’t be able to see.”</p><p>After another moment staring at the saddle, to get a handle on the thing, I suppose, Jeeves took the plunge, so to speak; put his foot up, and with a bit of a hand from me, since there wasn’t anything else he could grasp, he swung up onto the saddle behind me. It was a bit of a cosy fit between the two of us, but I didn’t mind it so much, especially on such a brisk winter day. There was something rather reassuring having Jeeves solidly at my back.</p><p>“You’ll have to hold on, what?” I said.</p><p>“Very good, sir,”  Jeeves said, sounding a bit constricted, but he wrapped his arms around my waist, completing the thing.</p><p>“Comfortable, Jeeves?”</p><p>“I believe so, sir.”</p><p>I nudged Buttercup into a walk and Jeeves seemed to fall forward a bit - with him behind me it was hard to tell what exactly was going on - and he tightened his grasp around my waist.</p><p>“I say, Jeeves, are you quite alright?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Jeeves replied, but again the chap didn’t sound wholly certain about it himself.</p><p>“You know, there’s no need to worry about falling off.”</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>To make a point of it, I spurred Buttercup on a bit down the trail. I felt Jeeves jostling behind me and his grasp tightened a little more, but he seemed to take it in stride well enough after a moment or two, being the unflappable chap that he is.</p><p>“It is surprisingly exhilarating, if I may use the expression.” Jeeves’s low voice sounded just by my ear, sending something of a shiver down my spine.</p><p>“Rather!”</p><p>Encouraged, I urged Buttercup to go faster still and let out a modest whoop.</p><p>It wasn’t a long trot to the spot I’d picked out for our luncheon - the site of many a picnic in my youth. It was a lovely quiet little clearing in a cheery glade, bright green and blanketed with flowers in the spring, but now still quite pleasant, surrounded by bare trees which I thought had an elegance of their own. Thankfully, despite the briskness of the day, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so we had no reason to fear snow, or the even less pleasant cold rain that is the scourge of the English winter. I could have hardly hoped for better.</p><p>“I say, Jeeves,” I said, pulling up on the reins to bring Buttercup to a stop, “we could have hardly hoped for a nicer day, what?”</p><p>“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves said, straightening himself in the saddle after the latest bump.</p><p>As soon as Buttercup seemed settled, I swung myself around and landed on the ground with hardly a totter. I was intent on fetching the basket and readying our little picnic - I hoped someone in the kitchens had thought to pack a blanket, because, as I realized with a bit of a jolt, I’d been so preoccupied with selecting the perfect fare, I’d forgotten the need for one.</p><p>However, Jeeves was not so quick to dismount. I could hardly blame the chap, even with his long legs, it was a bit of a ways down.</p><p>“Need a hand, what, Jeeves?”  I asked, my h. extended toward him.</p><p>“No, sir,” he replied carefully, as though saying the wrong thing might upset his precarious balance. “I believe I will be quite alright.”</p><p>As though to prove the point, he swung around his other leg, so he was sitting side-saddle like a proper lady - though I’d never seen a lady ride that way except in the pictures. And then, with a bit of a shove, he slid to the ground. I only just stepped out of the chap’s way in time. His legs must have been a little shaky, but he didn’t seem to pay it any heed.</p><p>“Shall I get the basket, sir?” Jeeves asked, already moving to do so.</p><p>I hastily waved him off - the whole idea was to help raise his spirits, it would hardly do for him to be working. “No, no, Jeeves, I’ve got it!”</p><p>Between the two of us, we lifted the basket off of Buttercup and Jeeves began to lay out the blanket that the maid had thankfully remembered to pack.</p><p>“Have a seat,” I insisted, once there was no more risk of sitting in the dirt.</p><p>I joined Jeeves at our makeshift table, so to speak, and poured him a cup of tea from a thermos, which he gratefully accepted.</p><p>“It’s not so bad, what, once you get accustomed to the whole thing,” I said as I poured myself a cup - the warm porcelain did wonders for my cold hands.</p><p>“No, sir,” Jeeves replied.</p><p>Seated there, across from him on the gingham blanket, it was the first time I had a chance to really look at the chap in what felt like the whole day. I daresay he looked a goodish bit better than he had the past few days, since Lord Sidcup’s death. There was even a bit of rouge in his cheeks from the brisk winter air and a few strands of hair seemed to be making a bid for freedom - I’m certain my own appearance could have been nothing short of wild. And the way he was looking at me, there was a softness in those deep, dark eyes of his, and I even fancied that look of surprise he had betrayed upon my arrival hadn’t entirely left him.</p><p>I beamed back at him and we busied ourselves with the serving of the first course - all prepared by the incomparable Anatole, of course, including a few of Jeeves’s particular favorites left over from the past few nights’ dinners, which had appeared on the menu by no coincidence.</p><p>“This is all very kind of you, sir,” Jeeves said rather cautiously, “if I may take the liberty of asking after the cause of it all.”</p><p>I turned a bit sheepish. “Well, it was M. Poirot’s suggestion really.”</p><p>It took nothing more than the mention of the chap’s name and Jeeves underwent a complete transformation. It had been going so well, the corners of Jeeves’s lips had taken a definite upward turn and he seemed on the verge of actually smiling for the first time in days. And then, at the very mention of Mr. Poirot, it was all gone, replaced by the stuffed frog or worse. Jeeves had put down his plate and his attention wasn’t on me any more, but the trees beyond.</p><p>“Sir,” he said sharply.</p><p>I put down my fork - the food hardly looked appetizing anymore anyway, my plan in shambles before me.</p><p>“Dash it all, Jeeves! Enough of this rot, I say!” I tried to meet the man’s eyes, but they were everywhere but upon myself. “Poirot was only trying to help because I told him I was worried about you. You don’t seriously believe that he followed us out here and is now hiding behind a tree or what not waiting for his chance.”</p><p>“I expect he has tampered with the food, sir, hence the suggestion of a picnic luncheon.” Jeeves’s gaze remained upon the trees around us, as though he really did expect the funny little Belgian fellow to jump out at us on a moment’s notice.</p><p>I’d had just about enough of that. “The bally luncheon wasn’t his idea!” I exclaimed. “You and your cousins aren’t the only ones around here with brains, you know! Mr. Poirot suggested the horse - something about the cavalry, for all the good it did - and I thought it’d be waste to just bring a horse out and parade it around, that it might be nice to get away, at least for an afternoon, and it seemed to be working just fine until I mentioned his bally name.”</p><p>Jeeves was looking at me now, surprised for the second time in a day - a record, I’m sure - but not in a wide-eyed sort of way this time, rather as though he wasn’t sure whether to believe what he was hearing. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the idea was your own?”</p><p>“Yes, Jeeves,” I replied, a little snapishly, “so unless you think I poisoned our lunch-”</p><p>Jeeves ignored the outburst, probably for the best. “And Mr. Poirot was unaware of your additional plans?”</p><p>“He only suggested the horse, I thought of the picnic later. He just thought the sight of it might remind you that you’re not on the bally moor anymore, that you don’t have to keep fighting for your life!”</p><p>Jeeves almost didn’t seem to hear me. There was a distant look in those deep, dark eyes of his, as though he were far away, where I could never reach him.</p><p>I did in fact reach out because I had to try. It was the least I could do for the man, really; he did the feudal thing and got me out of the soup and it was my feudal duty to give him a fiefdom and what not. I couldn’t just very well let Jeeves slip from my grasp. I needed him and, more than anything, I was afraid that Jeeves needed me too, but that I hadn’t done enough, hadn’t gotten to him in time.</p><p>To my surprise, however, when my hand reached his, he accepted it, took it in his own. He didn’t hold my h. tightly, but it was a sign that the chap was still there, still holding on.</p><p>At long last, he met my e. once more. “Sir, I believe I owe you my sincerest apologies. I see that you have been unduly troubled on my account.”</p><p>“Jeeves!” I protested - I’d had quite enough of him troubling himself trying not to trouble me, and I was about to tell him as much.</p><p>But before I had the chance, Jeeves motioned for silence, and I let him continue. “I owe you my gratitude. I will never forget the sight of the cavalry, greeting us just outside the gates in the dawning light. And yet, you have done more to free me than any of the men of the cavalry.  It appears I have underestimated Mr. Poirot’s ‘little grey cells,’ to make use of the expression.”</p><p>“Then you don’t still think he’s trying to poison us?”</p><p>“No, sir,” Jeeves said, and he seemed to mean it.</p><p>I beamed back at him, and may have scootched around the blanket so we were sitting a little closer.</p><p>“To be fair, he was ready to hang you for murder,” I put in, between bites - my appetitie having made a most astounding return. “He isn’t any more, mind you, but it took some doing to set him straight.”</p><p>“Indeed, sir. It is not so easy to forget one’s upbringing.”</p><p>“No, I suppose not. You know I still quake at the sight of the old headmaster.”</p><p>“I am certain that any man would do the same if placed in your position.”</p><p>It wasn’t really necessary, but I appreciated the sentiment and gave his shoulder a nudge to indicate as much.</p><p>We kidded back and forth a bit more over lunch, but Jeeves seemed oddly distracted. He wasn’t scanning the woods in search of Mr. Poirot, instead it was me he regarded with a rummy sort of intensity, as though he were trying to puzzle something out in that great brain of his and beyond all reason he thought that I might hold the answers.</p><p>At last, in a lull in the conversation, as I insisted upon plating the desserts, he said, “Sir, I find that I cannot overstate my gratitude to you.”</p><p>“I say, Jeeves!” I replied, stopping in the middle of trying to nudge an increasingly pockmarked pastry upright. “All I did was get a horse from the stables. You know Anatole’s to thank for the lunch, and the maid is the one who packed it, though I picked out the menu.”</p><p>“Yes, sir. However, it was you who reminded me that I am in truth free from that dreadful place. You have been a constant reminder of my freedom and of its value, even in times when I could not see beyond the bars. You are everything that my upbringing was not.” Jeeves said each of these things as though they were all self-evident, no more unusual than the daily news, if with a good bit more conviction.</p><p>“Jeeves,” I said, unsure what else to say, myself rather overcome by the sudden declaration.</p><p>“It is something that perhaps I should have said many years ago, but at the time I felt my cautions justified. After all, attachment is a dangerous thing. But if I may be so bold to say so, sir, my regard for you is unlike what I have felt for any other; I might almost call it love.”</p><p>“Love, Jeeves?” I exclaimed, nearly blindsighted. It was one thing and then another, I had hardly time to catch my breath.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Jeeves said simply, as though concurring with my assessment of the weather.</p><p>“For me?”</p><p>“Undoubtedly, sir.”</p><p>“I say, Jeeves!” I said, beaming rather uncontrollably at the chap. “Love, you called it? I suppose there’s no better word for it is there? I rather feel it too, love, for you, I mean.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Jeeves said in agreement.</p><p>I made like the cat in the adage, letting I dare not wait upon I would, for an instant or so before flinging my arms around the chap, careful not to let my slightly sticky hands touch his still mostly impeccable suit. After a moment, his arms folded around me as well, drawing me closer still.</p><p>As cozy as it was, it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position; Jeeves sitting cross-legged and myself on my knees leaning across, my hands carefully out of the way. Certainly better for the sofa back in the flat than sitting on the rather bumpy ground. We carefully disentangled ourselves and I fiddled with a napkin a bit - though it was a little too late for that.</p><p>We finished up our picnic sitting shoulder to shoulder - it could have been closer, but moving arms and elbows unfortunately got in the way. We stayed chewing the fat a bit longer after we finished eating, but by that time the short winter day was quickly coming to an end and a cool wind blew in with a covering of clouds, not to mention sore posteriors and sleeping legs.</p><p>Jeeves helped pull me to my feet and we both stretched the l. a bit and repacked the picnic basket, before turning our attention back to Buttercup, who had been standing contentedly tied to a tree, munching on a bag of oats all the while.</p><p>“I say, Jeeves, why don’t you take the lead on our way back?” I suggested.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“It’s more enjoyable if you’re the one doing the steering - at least that’s what Angela said when she and Tuppy tried making a romantic thing out of it one time.”</p><p>“I have no objection to being the passenger.”</p><p>“You can hardly compare them if you don’t know what you’re missing. I would be loath to deprive you of the opportunity.”</p><p>“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said resignedly, but he didn’t look too displeased.</p><p>Still, he approached a bit warily. I held the reins in a vague attempt at keeping Buttercup steady as he put one leg in the stirrup, and then, with a bit of effort, he pulled himself up, into the saddle.</p><p>“Quite alright there, Jeeves?” I asked, handing him the reins, as Buttercup adjusted herself to the new circs.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Jeeves insisted.</p><p>“You could take her for a loop around the clearing,” I suggested. “Just give her a nudge and she’ll know what to do.” I patted Buttercup on the rump for emphasis.</p><p>Jeeves took me up on it, and it didn’t take very many steps at all before I saw the corner of his lips twitch upward a sizable fraction. He looked rather dashing up there, not exactly dressed for the thing, mind you, but sitting up perfectly straight all prim and polished, Buttercup precisely under his control. He could have ridden for show if he put his mind to it - with a brain like his, the chap could have done anything.</p><p>“Ready to go?” I asked after he’d put Buttercup through her paces a little bit. The sky was darkening and the wind had turned quite chill.</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>I swung up on to the saddle behind him and as soon as my arms were secured around Jeeves’s waist, we were off. Jeeves didn’t seem to quite grasp how fast she could go, but he hardly mosied. It was rather different being behind, especially with Jeeves in front of me I could only half see where we were going over his broad shoulder. But it was rather comfortable pressed up against his back, shielded from the cold wind and sharing a bit of warmth besides.</p><p>Jeeves stopped only as we came out of the woods, approaching the stables. It would hardly do for us to come in with both of us on the horse - at best the grooms would think I had sprained something. So, we both dismounted and walked Buttercup the last of the way to the stable before returning to the house at long last, our hair wild and cheeks flushed from the cold air.  Even Jeeves looked a bit mussed, though he managed to right most of it with a few quick touches here and there and even straightened my tie for good measure, though I fear my hair was a lost cause.</p><p>We were nearing the door to the house when we spotted Mr. Poirot and Hastings out on the step. I glanced over at Jeeves, and though his soft smile had vanished, he wasn’t entirely stuffed either, which I took as some small measure of success.</p><p>“What ho!” I called out as we approached, and they came to meet us halfway.</p><p>“M. Wooster, M. Jeeves, your timing is most fortuitous,”  Mr. Poirot said, as soon as we were at a reasonable speaking distance. “I heard you had gone on horseback for the day. Hastings and I were about to depart to return to London.”</p><p>“I say, it’s a good thing we came back when we did, what?”</p><p>“I say!” Hastings agreed.</p><p>“Well, toodle-pip, and all that, it was my pleasure.”</p><p>“You’re welcome to come by anytime you’re in London.”</p><p>“Rather! And you’re both welcome at the flat!”</p><p>“I would not wish to impose,” Poirot said gravely, the words plainly directed at Jeeves more than at myself.</p><p>“No, sir,” Jeeves said, the mask carefully in place.</p><p>I was ready to interrupt, but Poirot raised a hand to stop me. “I am sorry that we could not meet on better terms. It is difficult to leave the past behind, eh?”</p><p>“Indeed,” Jeeves acknowledged, but there was a little more meaning behind it this time, perhaps a tinge of regret.</p><p>I didn’t expect Poirot to hold out a hand to Jeeves, and I was even more surprised when Jeeves took it. They shook hands almost as though they were ordinary cousins.</p><p>Then it was my turn to shake hands with Poirot and Hastings. I bid them “Cheerio”, and then they loaded their luggage onto the car with a bit of a hand from Jeeves - I took the picnic basket - and sped away.</p><p>“Pleasant fellows, what?” I remarked to Jeeves as we watched them drive away.</p><p>“Indeed, sir.”</p><p>I beamed at him, and then ushered the chap out of the blustery winter evening, into the cozy, cheerily lit house.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who has come along on this journey, whether you've been following the story as I've been posting it, or you have come upon it after it's done! This was a joy to write, and I hope I was able to share some of that with you!</p><p>If you haven't read the rest of <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860103">The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves</a>, I can only recommend it, with the enticement that Raffles and Bunny, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, Miss Marple, the Phantom of the Opera, and more... await.</p><p>With Bertie Solves a Mystery complete, The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves will be going on a little hiatus. However, this is not quite the end.<br/>The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves was initially conceptualized as a sequel to a Sherlock Holmes AU, so in the months to come, keep your eyes peeled for a prequel to the series: Designation: H! (To be notified when it's released, subscribe to The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves - or to me).<br/>In the meantime, questions and prompts (not to mention speculation) are, as always, more than welcome, either through AO3 or <a href="https://vtsuion.tumblr.com/">my Tumblr</a>.</p><p>Thank you again for reading!<br/>-V</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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